& 


p 

>      ; 

H 


GIFT  OF 
Dr.   Horace   Ivie 


EDUCATION  DHPT 


STUDIES 


IN 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


TYPICAL  SELECTIONS   OF  BRITISH  -AND.  AMERICAN 

AUTHORSHIP,  FROM    SHAKESPEARE 

TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME 

TOGETHER   WITH 

DEFINITIONS,  NOTES,  ANALYSES,  AND   GLOSSARY 

AS   AN    AID   TO 

SYSTEMATIC   LITERARY   STUDY 


FOR   USE  .IN 

HIGH  AND  NORMAL   SCHOOLS,  ACADEMIES 
SEMINARIES,  &c. 


BY  WILLIAM    SWINTON 

AUTHOR   OF        .'  ' 

"HARPER'S  LANGUAGE  SERIES"  AND  GOLD  MEDALLIST 
PARIS  EXPOSITION  1878 


WITH     PORTRAITS 


NEW   YORK 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1897 


• 

s  0       O  « 


.. 

GIFT  OF 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880,  by 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 

tOUCATION 


PREFACE. 


IN  the  prescribed  curricula  of  most  high-schools,  Eng- 
lish literature  and  rhetoric  find  an  important  place.  Yet, 
perhaps,  no  subjects  are  less  satisfactorily  taught.  The 
study  of  English  literature  is,  for  the  most  part,  confined 
to  a  cram  on  the  personal  biography  of  authors ;  at  the 
best,  it  is  a  reading  about  literature  rather  than  a  reading 
in  literature/  The  study  of  rhetoric  is,  for  the  most  part, 
confined  to  the  learning  of  abstract  definitions  and  princi- 
ples. This  is  an  acquisition  certainly  not  to  be  under- 
valued ;  for  there  is  only  a  half-truth  in  Butler's  famous 
aphorism,  that 

"  All  a  rhetorician's  rules 
Teach  nothing  but  to  name  his  tools." 

Yet  assuredly  it  is  a  barren  knowledge,  that  of  the  "  rhet- 
orician's rules,"  unless  these  are  seen  and  felt  as  they  find 
spontaneous  embodiment  in  the  great  creations  of  the 
masters  of  literary  art. 

This  volume  of  masterpieces  is  designed  to  occupy  a 
place  at  the  meeting-point  of  literature  and  rhetoric— 
to  restore  the  twain  to  their  natural  and  fruitful  relation- 
ship. On  the  side  of  literature  it  is  intended  as  the  ac- 

924^37 


iv  PREFACE. 

companiment  of  any  class-book  on  that  subject,  furnishing 
a  body  of  texts  to  be  carefully  read  in  connection  with  the 
biographical  and  critical  study  of  particular  authors,  as 
pursued  in  the  class-book.  On  the  side  of  rhetoric  it 
supplies  a  working  outfit  of  definitions  and  principles, 
thus  teaching  the  pupil  to  "name  his  tools;"  and,  fur- 
ther and  more  important,  it  applies  the  canons  of  the 
literary  art  to  the  analysis  of  the  texts  here  pTesented. 
To  this  study  I  have  given  the  name  "  Literary  Analysis," 
as  a  conveniently  elastic  designation  under  which  may  be 
brought  a  great  variety  of  exercises,  grammatical  and 
rhetorical,  logical  and  etymological.  The  Literary  Analy- 
sis is  a  new  feature  (at  least  I  am  unacquainted  with  any 
class-book  of  selections  in  which  the  kind  of  work  here 
developed  is  given) ;  and  it  is  one  from  which  most  valu- 
able results  are  anticipated.  For  surely  such  studies  as 
are  called  for  in  the  present  work  cannot  fail  to  bring 
the  pupil  into  close  and  friendly  contact  with  those 
mighty  minds  whose  "  volumes  paramount  "  constitute 
the  literature  of  our  language  :  so  that  he  will  no  longer 
be  reading  merely  about  the  masters,  but  reading  the  mas- 
ters themselves — ascending  with  them  into  the  "  heaven 
of  their  invention,"  and  feeding  his  soul  on  the  divine 
bread  of  their  high  imaginings. 

The  choice  of  authors  to  be  represented  by  typical  se- 
lections in  this  volume  has  been  no  easy  task,  for  in  the 
splendid  galaxy  of  our  English  and  American  literature 
are  unnumbered  stars. 

"  They  are  all  fires,  and  every  one  doth  shine." 
In  the  embarrassment  of  riches,  this  principle  of  selection 


PREFACE.  y 

was  laid  down :  that  the  authors  chosen  should  not  only 
be  of  the  first  rank,  but  that  as  far  as  possible  they  should 
represent  epochs  of  literature,  marked  phases  of  style,  dis- 
tinctive contributions  to  literary  method.  Under  the 
guidance  of  this  rule  forty  masters  have  been  here  brought 
together.  They  all  belong  to  the  dii  majores,  and  sit  se- 
renely, each  in  his  chair,  on  the  topmost  peaks  of  Olym- 
pus. The  first  name  is  that  of  Shakespeare ;  the  last  that 
of  Huxley.  It  is  a  significant  conjuncture  ;  for  in  passing 
from  the  former  to  the  latter,  and  saluting,  as  we  go,  the 
mighty  shades  of  Milton,  Dryden,  Pope,  Johnson,  Burke, 
Burns,  Scott,  Macaulay,  and  their  earlier  and  later  peers, 
we  complete  that  great  cycle  of  evolution  which  connects 
the  romanticism  of  the  sixteenth  century  with  the  scien^ 
tism  of  the  nineteenth. 

If  the  choice  of  authors  was  difficult,  that  of  pieces  to 
represent  them  was  scarcely  less  so.  Of  the  selections 
finally  decided  on,  after  much  deliberation,  this  much,  at 
least,  may  be  said :  that  each  has  a  claim  founded  on  some 
peculiar  power,  pathos,  beauty,  or  grandeur ;  that  each  is 
"  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene."  It  should  also  be  added  that 
care  has  been  taken  that,  as  far  as  possible,  each  selection 
should  be  a  complete  piece.  Thus,  of  Milton,  the  two 
poems  L' Allegro  and  II Pcnseroso  are  given  entire;  Bacon 
is  represented  by  two  complete  essays ;  Addison's  four 
best  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  papers  are  reproduced  in  full ; 
Pope  moralizes  the  whole  of  his  First  Epistle  of  the  Essay 
on  Man  ;  Gray  the  whole  of  the  Elegy  ;  and  Goldsmith  the 
whole  of  the  Deserted  Village ;  and  so  on.  And  even  in 
the  case  of  authors  who  must  necessarily  be  represented 


vi  PREFACE. 

by  extracts,  this  at  least  has  been  sought :  that  each  piece 
should  have  a  certain  unity,  should  show  a  beginning,  mid- 
dle, and  end ;  for  unless  a  piece  fill  this  requirement  it  is 
valueless  as  a  study  in  literary  art. 

The  attention  of  teachers  is  called  to  the  fact  that  each 
author  is  introduced  by  an  appropriate  "  Characterization  " 
by  a  distinguished  critic.  Thus  we  have  the  merits  of 
Shakespeare  and  Pope  set  forth  by  Dr.  Johnson ;  of  Bun- 
yan  and  Byron  by  Taine ;  of  Addison  and  Johnson  by 
Macaulay;  of  Goldsmith  and  Irving  by  Thackeray;  of 
Thackeray  by  Dickens ;  of  Lamb  by  De  Quincey ;  of 
Burns  by  Carlyle  ;  of  Carlyle  and  Wordsworth  by  Lowell ; 
of  Bryant  by  Curtis  ;  of  Holmes  by  Whittier.  These  fine 
appreciations  will,  it  is  thought,  whet  the  pupil's  appetite 
for  the  "  feast  of  fat  things  "  that  awaits  him  in  the  au- 
thors themselves. 

WILLIAM  SWINTON. 

NEW  YORK,  March,  1880. 

***  In  the  preparation  of  the  "  Notes,"  I  have  to  acknowledge  in- 
debtedness to  the  Clarendon  Press  series  of  British  classics,  to  the 
"  Longer  English  Poems  "  of  Hales,  and  to  Rolfe's  excellent  editions 
of  Shakespeare,  Gray,  and  Goldsmith.  Acknowledgments  are  also 
due  to  Messrs.  Houghton,  Osgood,  &  Co.,  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  and 
Messrs.  A.  S.  Barnes  &  Co.,  for  kind  permission  to  use  selections 
from  works  published  by  them. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PREFACE iii 

DEFINITIONS xi 

I.  William  Shakespeare i 

Characterization  by  Dr.  John- 
son   I 

Milton's  Tribute  to  Shake- 
speare    4 

1.  Funeral  of  Julius  Cjesar. . .     5 

2.  Trial  Scene  from  the  Mer- 

chant of  Venice 17 

II.  Francis  Bacon 30 

Three  Critics  on  Bacon"1 's  Es- 
says   30 

1.  Of  Studies 32 

2.  Of  Friendship 35 

III.  John  Milton 44 

Characterization    by    Chan- 

ning 44 

Three  Poets  on  Milton 48 

1.  L' Allegro 49 

2.  II  Penseroso 57 

3.  Milton's  Prose 64 

IV.  Samuel  Butler 72 

Hallam's  Critique  on  But- 
ler's Hudibras 72 

Extracts  from  Hudibras 74 

V.  John  Bunyan 84 

Characterization  by  Taine, .   84 
The  Golden  City 88 


VI.  John  Dryden  .............  100 

Characterization  by  Walter 
Scott  ..................    loo 

1.  Alexander's  Feast  .......    103 

2.  Two   Portraits   in    Aqua- 

fortis .................    in 

VII.  Jonathan  Swift  .........  115 

Characterization    by    Lord 


Pope's  Lines  on  Swift  .....   1  18 
The  Academy  of  Lagado  ____    119 

VIII.  Joseph  Addison  ........  124 

Characterization  by  Macau- 

lay  ...................  124 

Pope's  Venomed  Shaft  .....  128 

Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  ......  129 

IX.  Alexander  Pope  .........  147 

Dr.  Johnson's  Parallel  be- 
tween   Pope    and    Dry- 
den  ...................    147 

Essay  on  Man  .............    15° 

X.  Benjamin  Franklin  .  .        .164 

Characterization    by    Lord 
Jeffrey  ................    164 

From  Franklin's  Autobiogra- 

phy ...................    167 

XI.  Samuel  Johnson..  .         .180 

Characterization  by  Macau- 
lay  ...................    180 


via 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 


1.  Cowley  and  His  Contem- 

poraries    184 

2.  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Ches- 

terfield    190 

3.  Vanity  of  Military  Ambi- 

tion      191 

XII.  Thomas  Gray 194 

Characterization  by  Mack- 
intosh      1 94 

1.  Elegy  Written  in  a  Coun- 

try Church-yard 196 

2.  The  Progress  of  Poesy. . . .   204 

XIII.  Oliver  Goldsmith 211 

Thackeray's  Tribute  to  Gold- 
smith    211 

The  Deserted  Village 213 

XIV.  Edmund  Burke 229 

Characterization  by  Huzliti.  229 

1.  Lord  Chatham 232 

2.  The   Spirit   of  Liberty  in 

the  American  Colonies. .   237 

3.  Treatment  of  the  King  and 

Queen  of  France 244 

XV.  William  Cowper 248 

Characterization  by  Camp- 
bell    248 

Mrs.   Browning's    Stanzas 

on  Cowper 's  Grave 250 

On  the  Receipt  of  my  Moth- 
er's Picture  out  of  Nor- 
folk   251 

XVI.  Edward  Gibbon 257 

Gibbon's   own    Account   of 

his  Great  History 257 

The  Overthrow  of  Zenobia. .   260 

XVII.  Robert  Burns 270 

Characterization  by  Thomas 

Carlyle 270 


PACK 

Fitz-  Greene  HallecVs  Trib- 
ute to  Burns 273 

£.  The      Cotter's      Saturday 

Night 276 

2.  To  a  Mountain  Daisy. . . .   285 

3.  For  A'  That,  and  A'  That.  287 

XVIII.  William  Wordsworth.  289 

Characterization  by  Lowell.  289 
Intimations    of    Immortality 
from     Recollections     of 
Early  Childhood 292 

XIX.  Walter  Scott 302 

Characterization   by  R.  H. 

Hutton 302 

The    Christian    Knight    and 

the  Saracen  Cavalier. . .   305 

XX.  Samuel  T.  Coleridge.. . .  313 

Characterization  by  Craik..   343 

1.  Love 315 

2.  Morning   Hymn  to   Mont 

Blanc 320 

3.  Passage  from  Christabel..  322 

XXI.  Charles  Lamb 323 

Characterization      by      De 

Qutncey 323 

Dissertation  on  Roast  Pig.. .   325 

XXII.  Daniel  Webster 335 

Characterization  by  Rtifus 

Choate 335 

From  the  Speech  in   Reply 

to  Hayne 339 

XXIII.  Washing-ton  Irving. .  347 

Characterization  by  Thack- 

eray 347 

Westminster  Abbey 350 

XXIV.  Thomas  De  Quincey. .  366 

Characterization   by   Leslie 
Stephen 366 


CONTENTS. 


ix 


2.  A  Dream  Fugue 375 


i.  On  the   Knocking  at  the         j  XXXIII.  John  G.  Whittier. .  '491 

Gate  ,n  Macbeth 368  Characterization  by  David    ' 

Wasson 49! 

1.  Proem 493 

2.  Maud  Muller 495 

3.  Skipper  Ireson's  Ride. . . .  499 


XXV.  George  G.  Byron  ......  376 

Characterization  by  Taine.   376 
The  Prisoner  of  Chilion  .....  379 


XXVI.  Percy  B.  Shelley  .....  396 

Characterization    by    Sym- 
onds  ..................   396 

1.  Ode  to  a  Skylark  ........  399 

2.  Defence  of  Poetry  ........  405 

XXVII.  William  C.  Bryant.  .  408 

Characterization   by   G,  W. 
Curtis  ............  .'  .  .  .  408 

1.  Thanatopsis  .............  411 

2.  The  Planting  of  the  Ap- 

ple-tree ...............  415 

XXVIII.  Thomas  Carlyle.  .  .  .  417 

Characterization  by  Lowell.  417 
Three  Lurid  Pictures  .......  420 

XXIX.  Thomas  B.  Macaulay.  429 

Characterization   by   E.  A. 
Freeman  ..............  429 

The  Puritans  ..............  432 

XXX.  Ralph  W.  Emerson..  ..  438 

Characterization      by      A. 
Branson  Alcott.  ........  438 

1.  Compensation  ...........  441 

2.  The  Problem  ............  453 

XXXI.  Nath'l  Hawthorne  ...  455 

Characterization  by  George 
B.  Smith  ..............  455 

From  the  Scarlet  Letter  ----  458 

XXXII.  H.  W.  Longfellow.  ..  470 

Characterization  by   G.  W. 
Curtis  ................  470 

Keramos  ..................  473 


XXXIV.  Olirer  W.  Holmes..  503 

Characterization   by   J.  G. 
Whittier 503 

1.  The  Deacon's  Masterpiece.  506 

2.  The     Chambered     Nauti- 

lus     510 

3.  The  Last  Leaf. 511 

XXXV.  Alfred  Tennyson. ...  513 

Characterization  by  Bayard 
Taylor 513 

1.  Ulysses 517 

2.  Locksley  Hall 520 

XXXVI.  W.  M.  Thackeray. . .  529 

Tribute  by  Charles  Dickens.  529 
De  Finibus 533 

XXXVII.  Charles  Dickens.. .  545 

Characterization   by  E.  P. 

Whipple 545 

A  Christmas  Carol 549 

XXXVIII.  James  R.  Lowell.  579 

Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 579 

XXXIX.  George  Eliot 593 

Characterization  by  R.  H. 

Hutton 593 

From  Romola 596 

XL.  Thomas  H.  Huxley 608 

The  Scientific  Spirit  in  Mod- 
ern Thought 608 

GLOSSARY 621 


STUDIES 

IN 

ENGLISH   LITERATURE. 


DEFINITIONS. 


I. 

LITERATURE  AND   ITS   DEPARTMENTS. 

1.  Literature  (Lat.  literatura,  from  litera,  a  letter),  in  its 
most  general  import,  is  the  collective  body  of  literary  pro- 
ductions preserved  in  writing ;  but,  in  its  specific  sense,  it 
includes  only  those  writings  that  come  within  the  sphere 
of  rhetoric,  or  the  literary  art. 

I.  The  definition  excludes  from  the  category  of  literature  all 
books  that  are  technical  or  special  in  their  scope — hence  all 
works  of  mere  science  or  erudition, — so  that,  varying  the  form 
of  statement,  we  may  say  that  the  literature  of  any  nation  is 
its  body  of  "volumes  paramount,"  dealing  with  subjects  of 
common  interest  and  clothed  in  the  form  of  literary  art. 

II.  The  French  term  belles-lettres  (literally  elegant  letters,  "  po- 
lite literature  ")  is  sometimes  used  as  synonymous  with  liter- 
ature in  its  stricter  sense. 

2.  Classification  by  Form. — As  regards  the  form  of  expres- 
sion, literary  productions  are  divided  into  two  classes — 
prose  and  verse  (poetry). 


xii  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

3.  Prose,1  in  its  mechanism,  is  that  species  of  composi- 
tion in  which  words  are  arranged  in  unversified  or  non- 
metrical  sentences.    It  is  the  ordinary  form  of  oral  or  writ- 
ten discourse. 

4.  Verse,2  or  poetry,  in  its  mechanism,  is  that  species  of 
composition  in  which  words  are  metrically  arranged  ;  that 
is,  arranged  in  lines  (verses)  containing  a  definite  number 
and  succession  of  accented  and  unaccented  syllables. 

It  must  be  understood  that  the  definitions  given  above  have 
regard  merely  to  the  outer  form,  or  mechanism,  of  the  two 
species  of  written  composition.  And  this  should  the  more 
clearly  be  borne  in  mind  because  there  is  great  latitude,  and 
thereby  the  possibility  of  great  ambiguity,  in  the  use  of  the 
words  poetry,  verse,  rhyme,  prose,  etc.  Thus  "poetry"  is  some- 
times narrowed  to  an  equivalence  with  verse,  or  metrical  com- 
position; "verse"  is  sometimes  extended  to  an  equivalence 
with  poetry ;  and  "rhyme"  is  sometimes  used  as  a  synonym 
of  poetry  and  as  the  antithesis  of  prose :  thus — 

"Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme" — MILTON. 

On  the  other  hand,  "prose"  is  often  used  to  denote  what  is 
dull  and  commonplace,  without  regard  to  whether  the  com- 
position is  metrical  or  non-metrical. 

5.  Classification  by  Matter. — As  regards  matter,  or  essen- 
tial nature,  literary  productions  are  divided  into  various 
classes,  according  as  the  end  aimed  at  is  (i)  to  inform  the 
understanding,  (2)  to   influence  the  will,  or  (3)  to  excite 
pleasurable  feelings.     The  principal  departments  of  liter- 
ature are : 

1.  Description,  narration,  and  exposition,  which  have  for 
their  object  to  inform  the  understanding. 

2.  Oratory,  or  persuasion,  which  has  for  its  object  to  in- 
fluence the  will. 

3.  Poetry,  which  has  for  its  most  characteristic  function 
to  excite  pleasurable  feelings. 

*Lat.  prosa,  equivalent  to  Lat.  prorsa  (oratio  understood),  from  prorsus, 
straightforward,  straight  on. 

3  Lat.  versus,  a  furrow,  a  row  (from  vertere,  to  turn) ;  hence  a  metrical  line, 
and,  by  an  extension  of  meaning,  metrical  composition. 


DEFINITIONS.  xiii 

6.  Description,  or  descriptive  writing,  is  that  kind  of  com- 
position in  which  an  object  of  some  degree  of  complexity 
is  represented  in  language. 

I.  Description  is  generally  divided  into  two  kinds : 

a.  Objective  description  —  referring  to  objects  perceptible  to 
the  senses. 

b.  Subjective  description  — referring  to  the  feelings  and  the 
thoughts  of  the  mind. 

Scott  and  Byron  afford  striking  examples  of  the  two  kinds  of 
description.  These  two  men  of  genius  belonged  to  the  same 
school  of  literature  and  wrote  on  kindred  themes ;  but  Scott 
is  objective,  Byron  subjective.  "  Scott  detailed  all  his  scenes 
down  to  the  minutest  point,  and  was  content  with  the  object 
itself,  without  seeking  to  go  very  far  beneath  the  surface. 
Byron,  on  the  other  hand,  loved  to  seize  the  striking  features 
in  his  scenes,  and,  after  mentioning  these  in  a  bold  and 
graphic  manner,  to  dwell  upon  their  hidden  meaning.  The 
battle-scene  in  Marmion  may  be  compared  with  that  of  Wa- 
terloo in  Childe  Harold.  The  former  is  full  of  action  — the 
strife  of  men,  their  suffering,  their  wild  excitement  or  wilder 
despair ;  the  latter  is  full  of  the  poet's  thoughts,  and  is  pro- 
foundly meditative."  (De  Mille  :  Rhetoric^ 

The  two  kinds  of  description,  however,  are  generally  found 
existing  together,  the  subjective  intermingling  with  the  ob- 
jective. 

II.  Description  is  involved  in   nearly  all  the  other  kinds  of 
composition  —  in  narration,  which  must  often  be  a  series  of 
descriptions ;  in  exposition,  or  science,  which  has  frequently 
to  proceed  upon  description ;  and  in  poetry,  which  partakes 
so  largely  of  description  that  descriptive  poetry  is  recognized 
as  a  distinctive  species  of  poetical  composition. 

7.  Narration,  or  narrative  writing,  is  that  kind  of  compo- 
sition which  sets  forth  the  particulars  of  a  series  of  trans- 
actions or  events. 

I.  Like  description,  narration  may  be  divided  into  objective 
and  subjective,  the  former  including  all  recital  of  external 
events,  the  latter  dealing  with  mental  processes  and  the  prog- 
ress of  events  in  connection  with  their  philosophy. 

II.  Narration  include?  within  itself  more  departments  of  litera- 
ture than  any  other  kind  of  composition.     Thus  objective 
narration  appears  (a)  in  ordinary  external  history  and  bi- 


xiv  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ography,  (&)  in  prose  fiction,  (c)  in  epic  poetry,  ballads,  and 
metrical  romances,  (W)  in  dramatic  poetry,  (e)  in  lyric  poetry, 
(/)  in  scientific  writings,  and  (g)  in  exposition  whenever  the 
writer  deals  with  the  record  of  events. 

In  like  manner,  subjective  narration  appears  (a)  in  philosophi- 
cal history  and  biography,  (b)  in  the  novel  of  character,  (c)  in 
the  modern  (as  contrasted  with  ancient)  epic,  as  Dante's  Di- 
vine Comedy,  (d^)  in  dramatic  literature,  (e)  in  lyric  poetry,  as 
Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  and  (/)  in  exposition  where  it  is 
necessary  to  give  an  account  of  the  progress  of  principles. 

8.  Exposition,  or  expository  writing,  is  that  kind  of  com- 
position in  which  facts  or  principles  are  discussed,  and  the 
conclusion  is  reached  by  a  process  of  reasoning. 

The  expository  art  is  applied  to  all  the  departments  of  human 
thought  or  knowledge ;  hence  expository  composition  ap- 
pears in  many  forms.  Among  these  the  principal  are,  (a)  the 
treatise,  or  full  discussion  of  a  subject,  (b}  the  essay,  or  briefer 
exposition  of  a  subject,  (c)  the  editorial  article,  and  (d)  the 
philosophic  poem. 

9.  Oratory,  or  persuasion,  is  that  kind  of  composition  in 
which  it  is  sought  to  influence  the  mind  by  arguments  or 
reasons  offered,  or  by  anything  that  inclines  the  will  to  a 
determination. 

I.  According  to  Aristotle,  the  divisions  of  oratory  are  three- 
fold:   i.  Deliberative;   2.  Judicial;   3.  Demonstrative.     Bain 
makes  a  fourfold  classification:   i.  The  oratory  of  the  law- 
courts  ;    2.    Political   oratory ;    3.  Pulpit   oratory ;    4.    Moral 
suasion.     Bain's  first  agrees  with  Aristotle's  second ;   Bain's 
second  with  Aristotle's  first,  and  Bain's  fourth  with  Aris- 
totle's third.     Bain's  third  is  of  course  a  modern  department 
of  oratory. 

II.  Persuasion  may  employ  any  one  or  all  the  modes  of  simple 
communication — description,  narration,  or  exposition. 

10.  Poetry  is  a  fine  art,  operating  by  means  of  thought 
conveyed  in  language. 

I.  "Poetry,"  says  Prof.  Bain,  "agrees  generically  with  painting, 
sculpture,  architecture,  and  music ;  and  its  specific  mark  is 
derived  from  the  instrumentality  employed.  Painting  is 
based  on  color,  sculpture  on  form,  music  on  a  peculiar  class 


DEFINITIONS.  xv 

of  sounds,  and  poetry  on  the  meaning  and  form  of  language." 
Taking  this  definition  in  connection  with  that  of  poetry  as  a 
synonym  of  verse,  it  will  be  seen  how  wide  is  the  distinction 
between  poetry  in  its  essence  and  poetry  in  its  form.  Indeed, 
so  thoroughly  is  excited  and  elevated  imagination  identified 
with  poetry  that  it  may  even  wear  the  garb  of  prose. 
II.  Poetry  is  divided  into  the  following  species: 

i.  Narrative  poetry,  including  (a)  the  epic,  as  the  Iliad,  Par- 
adise Lost ;  (ff)  the  metrical  romance,  as  Scott's  Lady  of  the 
Lake  ;  (c]  the  ballad,  as  Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome  ; 
and  (d}  the  tale,  as  Longfellow's  Evangeline. 
?.  Lyric  poetry,  including  (a)  the  song,  secular  and  religious ; 
(b}  the  ode,  as  Dryden's  Alexander  s  Feast ;  (c)  the  elegy, 
as  Gray's  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard ;  and  (d)  the 
sonnet. 

3.  Dramatic  poetry,  including  tragedy,  as  Hamlet,  and  com- 
edy, as  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 

4.  Descriptive  poetry,  as  Thomson's  Seasons. 

5.  Didactic  poetry,  as  Wordsworth's  Excursion. 

6.  Pastoral  poetry,  as  Allen  Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd. 

7.  Satirical  poetry,  as  Butler's  Hudibras. 

8.  Humorous  poetry,  as  Cowper's  'John  Gilpin. 

11.  Kinds  of  Verse.  — Verse  is  of  two  kinds — rhyme  and 
blank  verse. 

12.  Rhyme  is  that  species  of  verse  in  which  is  found  con- 
cord of  sounds  in  words  at  the  end  of  lines. 

13.  Blank  verse  consists  of  unrhymed  lines  of  the  iambic 
metre  of  five  or  five  and  a  half  feet. 

The  iambic  foot  consists  of  an  unaccented  syllable  followed  by 
one  which  is  accented,  as  prepdre,  convey. 

14.  Prosody  is  that  division  of  rhetoric  which  treats  oi 
versification. 

It  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  this  work  to  enter  into 
the  details  of  prosody,  a  sufficiently  full  treatment  of  which 
will  be  found  in  most  rhetorical  text-books.  A  compendi- 
ous view  of  the  subject  is  presented  in  Swinton's  New  School 
Composition. 


XVI 


STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE, 


II. 

STYLE. 

15.  Definition  and  Topics. — Style  refers  to  the  choice  and 
arrangement  of  words,  and  may  be  defined  as  the  peculiar 
manner  in  which  thought  is  expressed  in  language. 
It  includes  the  following  topics : 
I.  T\\t  figures  of  speech. 
II.  The  order  of  words. 
III.  The  qualities  of  style. 


I.   FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 

16.  A  figure  of  speech  is  a  deviation  from  the  direct  and 
literal  mode  of  expression  for  greater  effect.     It  is  a  form 
of  speech  artfully  varied  from  the  common  usage. 

17.  Classification.  —  Figures  of  speech  may  be  divided 
into  three  classes:    I.  Figures  of  relativity ;    II.  Figures 
of  gradation ;  III.  Figures  of  emphasis.     Under  this  head 
also  may  come  the  grammatical  figures — ellipsis,  enallage, 
and  pleonasm. 

The  principal  figures  of  which  mention  is  made  in  this  book 
are  as  follows : 


ANTITHESIS. 

APOSTROPHE. 

SYNECDOCHE. 

Figures  of 
Relativity 

SIMILE. 
METAPHOR. 
ALLEGORY. 

VISION. 
ALLUSION. 
IRONY. 

METONYMY. 
EUPHEMISM. 
LITOTES. 

PERSONIFICATION. 

SARCASM. 

EPITHET. 

Figures  of  Gradation 


CLIMAX. 
HYPERBOLE. 


CEPIZEUXIS. 

Figures  of  Emphasis  \  ANAPHORA. 

I  ALLITERATION. 


ANACOLUTHON. 
APOSIOPESIS. 


DEFINITIONS.  xvii 

/.  FIGURES  OF  RELATIVITY, 

18.  Antithesis  is  the  statement  of  a  contrast  or  opposi- 
tion of  thoughts  and  words,  as — 

"  In  peace  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man 
As  mild  behavior  and  humility  ; 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Let  us  be  tigers  in  our  fierce  deportment." 

I.  Oxymoron  is  an  antithesis  arising  from  the  opposition  of  two 
contradictory  terms,  as  "#  pious  fraud"  "O  victorious  de- 
feat!" 

II.  Antimetabole  is  an  antithesis  in  which  the  order  of  words 
ip  reversed  in  each  member,  as  "  A  wit  with  dunces,  and  a 
dunce  with  wits." 

III.  Parison,  or  isocolon,  is  an  antithesis  in  which  clauses  of 
similar  construction  follow  in  a  series,  word  contrasting  with 
word,  phrase  with  phrase,  etc.,  as  "Homer  was  the  greater 
genius,  Virgil  the  better  artist.     In  the  one  we  most  admire 
the  man,  in  the  other  the  work.     Homer  hurries  us  with  a 
commanding  impetuosity,  Virgil  leads  us  with  an  attractive 
majesty." 

19.  The  simile,  or  comparison,  is  a  figure  that  formally 
likens  one  thing  to  another,  as — 

"  Him,  like  the  working  bee  in  blossom  dust, 
Blanched  with  his  mill  they  found."— TENNYSON. 

20.  The  metaphor  is  a  comparison  implied  in  the  lan- 
guage used.     It  transfers  a  word  from  the  object  to  which 
it  literally  belongs,  and  applies  it  to  another,  as— 

He  bridles  his  anger. 
"  Athens,  the  eye  of  Greece, 
Mother  of  arts  and  eloquence." — MILTON. 

I.  Metaphor  dispenses  with  the  connectives  of  comparison  (like, 
as,  etc.)  used  in  the  simile ;  and  instead  of  stating  that  one 
thing  resembles  another,  asserts  that  it  is  that  other :  thus— 

Simile.  He  was  as  brave  as  a  lion. 
Metaphor.  He  was  a  lion  in  the  combat. 

II.  Conversion  into  Simile.— Every  metaphor  may  be  converted 
into  a  simile,  since  every  metaphor  is  a  condensed  simile. 
The  process  of  expansion  is  a  matter  of  tact  rather  than  of 
rule ;  but  so  far  as  any  rule  can  be  given,  the  following  may  be 
serviceable.     First,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  a  simile  is  a  kind  of 


XV111 


STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


rhetorical  proposition,  and  must,  when  fully  expressed,  con- 
tain four  terms.  Now  let  the  metaphor  to  be  explained  be 
"  The  ship  ploughs  the  sea."  The  following  is  the  rule 
given  by  Seeley  and  Abbott  (English  Lessons,  p.  131) :  "It  has 
been  seen  that  the  simile  consists  of  four  terms.  In  the  third 
term  of  the  simile  stands  the  subject  ('ship,'  for  instance) 
whose  unknown  predicated  relation  ('  action  of  ship  on  wa- 
ter ')  is  to  be  explained.  In  the  first  term  stands  the  corre- 
sponding subject  ('  plough  '),  whose  predicated  relation  ('ac- 
tion on  land ')  is  known.  In  the  second  term  is  the  known 
relation.  The  fourth  term  is  the  unknown  predicated  rela- 
tion, which  requires  explanation."  Thus — 


As 

the  plough 

turns  up  the  land, 

so 

the  ship 

acts  on  the  sea. 

Known  subject. 

Known  predicate. 

Subject  whose 
predicate  is 
unknown. 

Unknown 
predicate. 

III.  Mixed  Metaphors. — It  is  a  well-known  canon  of  the  meta- 
phor that  in  the  same  metaphor  figures  should  not  be  mixed. 
A  familiar  example  is  afforded  by  the  following  couplet  from 
Addison : 

"  I  bridle  in  my  struggling  Muse  with  pain, 
That  longs  to  launch  into  a  nobler  strain.". 

Here  the  Muse,  a  goddess,  is  spoken  of  as  being  "  bridled." 
Then,  after  raising  the  image  of  a  horse,  the  author  con- 
founds us  by  viewing  the  Muse  as  a  ship  that  longs  to  launch 
itself — and  into  a  "  strain  !"  Yet  it  is  Addison  who  formulated 
this  capital  test  of  metaphors : 

"Try  and  form  a  picture  on  them." 

21.  Allegory  is  a  narrative  with  a  figurative  meaning,  de- 
signed to  convey  instruction  of  a  moral  character.  The 
Faerie  Queene  of  Spenser  and  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  s  Progress 
are  the  greatest  allegories  in  English  literature. 

Allegory  has  been  called  "a  prolonged  metaphor."  Subjects 
remote  from  each  other  are  brought  into  a  similitude  sus- 
tained throughout  the  details.  Thus  in  Bunyan's  immortal 
work  the  spiritual  life  or  progress  of  a  Christian  is  repre- 
sented in  detail  by  the  story  of  a  pilgrim  in  search  of  a  dis- 
tant country,  which  he  reaches  after  many  struggles  and  dif- 
ficulties. In  the  Faerie  Queene  the  vices  and  virtues  are  per- 
sonified, and  made  to  act  out  their  nature  in  a  series  of  sup- 
posed adventures. 


DEFINITIONS. 

22  Personification  is  that  figure  in  which  some  action  or 
attribute  of  a  living  being  is  ascribed  to  an  inanimate  ob- 
ject, as— 

-The  mountains  sing  together,  the  hills  rejoice  and  clap  hands." 

23.  Apostrophe  is  that  figure  in  which  something  absent 
is  addressed  as  though  present.     It   is  found  chiefly  in 
poetry  and  oratory. 

"Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour: 
England  hath  need  of  thee."— WORDSWORTH. 

24.  Vision  is  the  narration  of  past  or  absent  scenes  as 
though  actually  occurring  before  us.     It  is  allied  to  and 
is  often  found  associated  with  apostrophe. 

I.  Byron's  description  of  the  Dying  Gladiator— 

"I  see  before  me  the  gladiator  lie,"  etc.— 

is  a  familiar  example  of  vision. 

II.  J/^/^.-Metastasis  is  a  kind  of  description  similar  to 
vision  :  it  involves  a  transition  from  the  present  to  the  future. 
A  good  example  is  found  in  the   peroration  of  Webster's 
reply  to  Hayne.     (See  p.  345  of  this  book.) 

25.  Allusion  is  that  figure  by  which  some  word  or  phrase 
calls  to  mind  something  not  directly  mentioned,  as— 

"  It  may  be  said  of  him  that  he  came,  he  saw,  he  conquered." 

The  allusion  here  is  to  Caesar's  famous  despatch  ("  Veni,  vidi, 

vici  "),  which  it  calls  to  mind. 

Rhetoricians  make  various  degrees  of  allusion,  and  among 
others  direct  allusion  (as  "The  patience  of  Job  is  proverbi- 
al"); but,  properly  speaking,  this  is  not  allusion:  it  is  mere 
reference.  Allusion  is  always  oblique.  The  following,  in 
which  Milton  wishes  to  denote  Moses,  is  an  allusion  in  the 
strict  sense : 

' '  That  shepherd  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed 
In  the  beginning  how  the  heaven  and  earth 
Rose  out  of  chaos." 

26.  Irony  is  a  mode  of  speech  expressing  a  meaning  con- 
trary to  that  which  the  speaker  intends  to  convey,  as  in 
Job's  address  to  his  friends,  "  No  doubt  but  ye  are  the 
people,  and  wisdom  will  die  with  you." 

27.  Sarcasm  is  a  mode  of  expressing  vituperation  under 

B 


xx  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

a  somewhat  veiled  form.     The  Letters  of  Junius  come 
under  this  description. 

Sarcasm  is  generally  softened  in  the  outward  expression  by  the 
arts  and  figures  of  disguise  —  irony,  innuendo,  and  epigram. 
Pope's  Atticus  (see  pp.  128,  129  of  this  book)  is  a  fine  ex- 
ample. 

28.  Synecdoche  is  that  figure  which  consists  in  substitut- 
ing words  denoting  a  part,  a  species,  or  the  concrete  for 
words  denoting  the  whole,  a  genus,  or  the  abstract;  or  the 
reverse.     Thus — 

1 .  A  part  for  the  whole,  as  sail  for  ship. 

2.  The  species  for  the  genus,  as  "our  daily  bread"  for  our  daily 
food. 

3.  The  concrete  for  the  abstract,  as  "The  father  yearns  in  the 
true  prince's  heart  "—father  meaning  paternal  love. 

4.  The  whole  for  a  part,  as  America  for  the  United  States. 

5.  The  genus  for  the  species,  as  a  vessel  for  a  ship,  a  creature 
for  a  man. 

6.  The  abstract  for  the  concrete,  as — 

"  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry" 

meaning  her  beautiful  women  and  brave  men. 

Antonomasia. — Antonomasia  is  a  form  of  synecdoche  resem- 
bling (2),  only  that  instead  of  the  species  being  put  for  the 
genus,  the  individual  is  put  for  the  species.  It  consists  in 
using  a  proper  name  to  designate  a  class,  as  a  Solomon  for  a 
wise  man,  a  Croesus  for  a  rich  man. 

29.  Metonymy  is  that  figure  in  which  one  thing  is  de- 
scribed by  the  name  of  another  thing  having  to  the  thing 
described  the  relation  of  cause,  effect,  adjunct,  or  accom- 
paniment.    Thus : 

1.  Cause  for  effect,  as  "the  savage  desolation  of  war,"  where  the 
cause  of  the  desolation  (a  savage  spirit)  is  put  for  the  effect. 

2.  The  effect  for  the  cause,  zsgray  hairs  for  old  age. 

3.  The  sign  for  the  thing  signified,  as  sceptre  for  royalty,  the 
White  House  for  the  office  of  President. 

4.  The  container  for  the  thing  contained,  as  bottle  for  intoxicat- 
ing drink,  purse  for  money. 


DEFINITIONS.  XX1 

5.  The  instrument  for  the  agent,  as  the  arbitration  of  the  sword 
— meaning  war. 

6.  An   author  for  his  works,  as  "They  have  Moses  and  the 
prophets,"  "We  find  in  Bacon" — meaning  Bacons  writings. 

Distinction. — From  definitions  28  and  29  it  may  be  inferred  that 
a  synecdoche  is  a  figure  in  which  a  word  is  used  to  express  a 
thing  that  differs  from  its  original  meaning  only  in  degree,  and 
not  in  kind ;  while  a  metonymy  is  a  figure  in  which  a  word 
is  used  to  express  a  thing  differing  from  its  original  in  kind. 
Hence  metonymies  are  somewhat  bolder  than  synecdoches. 

30.  Euphemism  is  the  figure  by  means  of  which  a  harsh 
meaning  is  expressed  in  words  of  softer  signification,  as 
"He  was  unable  to  meet  his  engagements"  for  he  failed  in 
business. 

31.  Litotes  is  that  figure  in  which,  by  denying  the  con- 
trary, more  is  implied  than  is  expressed,  as — 

"  Immortal  names, 
That  were  not  born  to  die" — i.  e.,  that  -will  live. 

32.  Transferred  Epithet. — An  epithet  is  a  word  joined  to 
another  in  order  to  explain  its  character,  as  sea-girt  Sala- 
mis,  the  sunny  South. 

The  transference  of  an  epithet  from  its  proper  subject  to  some 
allied  subject  or  circumstance  is  a  common  figure  m  poetry, 
as — 

"  Hence  to  his  idle  bed." 

"The  little  fields  made  green 
By  husbandry  of  many  thrifty  years." 

II.  FIGURES  OF  GRADATION. 

33.  Climax  is  an  ascending  series  of  thoughts  or  state- 
ments, increasing  in  strength  or  importance  until  the  last. 
Thus: 

"It  is  an  outrage  to  bind  a  Roman  citizen  ;  to  scourge  him  is  an  atrocious 
crime  ;  to  put  him  to  death  is  almost  a  parricide  ;  but  to  CRUCIFY  him 
—what  shall  I  call  it?"— CICERO. 

Anticlimax.— Any  great  departure  from  the  order  of  ascending 
strength  is  called  an  anticlimax.  Thus : 

••  If  once  a  man  indulges  himself  in  murder,  very  soon  he  comes  to  think  little  of  rob- 
bing; and  from  robbing  he  comes  next  to  drinking  and  Sabbath-breaking,  and  from 
that  to  incivility  and  procrastination."— DE  QUINCEY. 


xxii  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE. 

34.  Hyperbole  is  that  figure  by  which  more  than  the  lit- 
eral  truth  is  expressed.     It  consists  in  magnifying  objects 
beyond  their  natural  bounds,  so  as  to  make  them  more 
impressive  or  more  intelligible.     Thus: 

"  Beneath  the  lowest  deep,  a  lower  deep, 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me,  opens  wide." — MILTON. 

///.  FIGURES  OF  EMPHASIS. 

35.  Epizeuxis  is  the  immediate  repetition  of  some  word 
or  words  for  the  sake  of  emphasis,  as — 

"  Few,  few  shall  part  where  many  meet." 

Repetitio  Crebra.  —  The  name  "repetitio  crebra"  is  applied  to 
the  frequent  repetition  of  a  word,  as — 

"  He  sang  Darius,  good  and  great, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate." — DRVDEN. 

36.  Anaphora  is  the  repetition  of  a  word  or  phrase  at  the 
beginning  of  each  of  several  sentences,  or  divisions  of  a 
sentence,  as — 

"  By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorned, 
By  strangers  honored,  and  by  strangers  mourned." — POPE. 

37.  Alliteration  is  the  repetition  of  the  same  initial  letter 
of  emphatic  words,  as — 

"Apt  alliteration's  artful  aid." — CHURCHILL. 
"/ull/athoms/ive  thy/ather  lies."— SHAKESPEARE. 

38.  Anacoluthon  is  the  device  of  leaving  a  proposition 
unfinished,  and  introducing  something  else  to   complete 
the  sentence,  as — 

"  If  thou  be'st  he — but  oh,  how  fallen,  how  changed 
From  him  who,"  etc. 

39.  Aposiopesis  is  a  sudden  pause  in  the  course  of  a  sen- 
*  tence  by  which  the  conclusion  is  left  unfinished,  as — 

"  For  there  I  picked  up  on  the  heather, 
And  there  I  put  within  my  breast, 
A  moulted  feather,  an  eagle's  feather — 
Well — I  forget  the  rest." — BROWNING. 


DEFINITIONS. 

A  XI J I 

IV.  GRAMMATICAL  FIGURES. 

40.  Ellipsis  is  the  omission  of  words  with  a  rhetorical 
purpose.     Thus  "  Impossible !"  is  more  expressive  than  a 
complete  sentence  affirming  impossibility. 

Asyndeton,  or  the  omission  of  connectives,  is  a  device  of  which 
considerable  use  is  made  both  in  prose  and  poetry:  "The 
wind  passeth  over  it— it  is  gone." 

41.  Enallage  is  the  substitution  of  one  part  of  speech  for 
another,  as — 

"  Whether  the  charmer  sinner  it  or  saint  it, 
If  folly  grow  romantic,  I  must  paint  it."— POPE. 

42.  Pleonasm  is  the  employment  of  more  words  than 
usual,  or  of  redundant  words,  as  "  Thy  rod  and  thy  staff, 
they  comfort  me." 

When  properly  employed,  pleonasm  is  a  legitimate  rhetorical 
device,  and  may  be  productive  of  a  high  degree  of  emphasis. 


II.   THE  ORDER  OF  WORDS. 

43.  Words  may  be  arranged  in  two  orders — the  gram- 
matical and  the  rhetorical  order. 

44.  The  grammatical  order,  otherwise  called  the  direct,  or 
prose  order,  is  the  ordinary  prose  arrangement  of  words  in 
a  sentence. 

There  is  a  customary  order  of  the  parts  of  a  sentence  which  in 
ordinary  speech  and  writing  we  unconsciously  follow.  Thus 
the  subject  precedes  the  verb,  and  the  arrangement  of  a  sim- 
ple sentence  is  in  the  order  of  subject,  verb,  object.  But  for 
the  sake  of  emphasis  or  ornament  this  natural  arrangement 
is  often  departed  from. 

45.  The  rhetorical  order,  otherwise  called  the  indirect,  or 
poetic  order,  is  an  inverted  arrangement  of  words,  adopted 
with  a  view  to  greater  effect.     It  is  characteristic  of  poe- 
try, and  of  elevated  or  impassioned  prose. 


xxiv 


STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE. 


GRAMMATICAL  ORDER. 

I  shall  attempt  neither  to  palliate 
nor  deny  the  atrocious  crime  of 
being  a  young  man. 

The  gate  is  wide  and  the  way  is 
broad  that  leadeth  to  destruc- 
tion. 

They  could  take  their  rest,  for 
they  knew  that  Lord  Stratford 
watched.  They  feared  him, 
they  trusted  him,  they  obeyed 
him. 

The  night-winds  sigh,  the  break- 
ers roar,  and  the  wild  sea-mew 
shrieks. 


RHETORICAL   ORDER. 

The  atrocious  crime  of  being  a 
young  man  I  shall  attempt  nei- 
ther to  palliate  nor  deny. 

Wide  is  the  gate  and  broad  is  the 
way  that  leadeth  to  destruc- 
tion. 

They  could  take  their  rest,  for 
they  knew  that  Lord  Stratford 
watched.  Him  they  feared, 
him  they  trusted,  him  they 
obeyed. 

The  night-winds  sigh,  the  break- 
ers roar, 

And  shrieks  the  wild  sea-mew. 


III.   THE  QUALITIES   OF  STYLE. 

46.  The  principal  qualities  of  style  are  perspicuity,  en- 
ergy, and  melody. 

47.  Perspicuity,  or  clearness  of  expression,  is  such  a  use 
of  words  that  they  may  readily  be  understood  by  those  to 
whom  they  are  addressed. 

48.  Its  Sources. — The  principal  sources  of  perspicuity  are 
simplicity  and  precision. 

49.  Simplicity  of  style  arises  from  the  choice  of  simple 
words,  and  from  such  an  arrangement  of  words  in  sentences 
as  adapts  them  to  easy  comprehension.     The  works  of  De 
Foe,  Bunyan,  Addison,  Franklin,  and  Washington  Irving 
illustrate  this  quality. 

I.  Simplicity,  in  so  far  as  it  depends  on  diction,  is  best  obtained 
by  the  employment  of  specific  and  concrete  terms  rather  than 
those  that  are  general  or  abstract.  It  is  also  secured  by  the 
use  of  Anglo-Saxon  words  (see  Def.  61)  rather  than  those  of 
classical  origin.  And  it  is  to  be  observed  that  there  is  an  in- 
timate relation  between  these  two  sources  of  simplicity ;  for 
it  will  be  found  that  most  specific  and  concrete  terms  are  of 
Anglo-Saxon,  and  most  general  and  abstract  terms  of  classi- 
cal, origin.  This  is  well  illustrated  in  the  following  passage 
from  an  essay  by  Henry  Rogers :  "  Move  and  motion  are  gen- 


DEFINITIONS.  xxv 

eral  terms  of  Latin  origin ;  but  all  the  special  terms  for  ex- 
pressing varieties  of  motion  are  Anglo-Saxon,  as  run,  walk 
leap,  stagger,  slip,  step,  slide.  Color  is  Latin  ;  but  white,  black 
green,  yellow,  blue,  red,  brown,  are  Anglo-Saxon.  Crime  is 
Latin ;  but  murder,  theft,  robbery,  to  lie,  to  steal,  are  Anglo- 
Saxon.  Member  and  organ,  as  applied  to  the  body,  are  Latin 
and  Greek  ;  but  ear,  eye,  hand,  foot,  lip,  mouth,  teeth,  hair,  fin- 
ger, nostril,  are  Anglo-Saxon.  Animal  is  Latin ;  but  man, 
horse,  cow,  sheep,  dog,  cat,  calf, goat,  are  Anglo-Saxon.  Number 
is  Latin ;  but  all  our  cardinal  and  ordinal  numbers,  as  far  as 
a  million,  are  Anglo-Saxon." 

II.  Simplicity,  in  so  far  as  it  depends  on  the  structure  of  sen- 
tences, is  best  obtained  by  the  use  of  short  rather  than  long 
sentences,  and  of  the  loose  sentence  rather  than  the  period 
(see  Def.  57),  and  by  an  easy,  natural,  and  inartificial  arrange- 
ment of  words,  phrases,  and  clauses. 

50.  Precision  consists  in  the  selection  of  such  words  as 
may  exhibit  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  meaning  which 
the  writer  intends  to  convey. 

51.  Its  Violations. — The  most  frequent  violations  of  pre- 
cision are:  I.  By  \hzfaulty  use  of  synonymous  words;    II. 
By  the  improper  use  of  words ;   III.  By  the  use  of  vague 
words;  IV.  By  tautology;  V.  By  circumlocution. 

I.  By  the  faulty  use  of  synonymous  words,  as  where  modest 
(which  refers  to  the  habit  of  mind,  and  is  commendable)  is 
used  for  bashful  (which  refers  to  the  state  of  feeling,  and  is 
reprehensible). 

II.  By  the  improper  use  of  words,  as  "  I  would  not  demean  my- 
self," where  "  demean,"  which  signifies  behave,  is,  by  confusion 
arising  from  the  root  mean,  used  for  debase  or  lower. 

III.  By  the  use  of  vague  words,  as  affair,  circumstance,  remarka- 
ble, where  used  in  place  of  definite  and  specific  words. 

IV.  By  tautology,  or  the  repetition  of  the  same  idea  in  different 
words,  as  "  They  returned  back  again  to  the  same  place  from 
whence  they  came  forth  ;"  which  is  reducible  to  "They  re- 
turned to  the  place  whence  they  departed."     A  critic  has 
pointed  out  that  Dr.  Johnson's  couplet, 

"Let  observation  with  extensive  view 
Survey  mankind  from  China  to  Peru," 

is  equivalent  to  "  Let  observation  with  extensive  observation 
observe  mankind  extensively." 


xxvi  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE. 

V.  By  circumlocution,  or  a  roundabout  mode  of  speech,  in 
which  words  are  multiplied  to  an  unnecessary  extent.  The 
following  is  an  example  of  circumlocution  : 

"  Pope  professed  to  have  learned  his  poetry  from  Dryden,  whom,  whenever  an  oppor- 
tunity was  presented,  he  praised  through  the  whole  period  of  his  existence  with  un- 
varying liberality  ;  and  perhaps  his  character  may  receive  some  illustration,  if  a  com- 
parison be  instituted  between  him  and  the  man  whose  pupil  he  was." — DK.  JOHNSON. 

Condensed  thus  by  Bain  : 

"  Pope  professed  himself  the  pupil  of  Dryden,  whom  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  praising ; 
and  his  character  is  illustrated  by  a  comparison  with  his  master." 

52.  Energy  (variously  termed  by  writers  on  rhetoric  vigor, 
force,  strength,  vivacity,  and  persuasiveness)  is  that  quality 
of  style  which  conduces  to  arouse  the  attention,  enforce 
argument,  stimulate  imagination,  and  excite  the  feelings. 
It  is  the  vital  element  in  style. 

I.  Among  the  requisites  of  energy  are  simplicity  (the  simplest 
words  being  often  the  strongest),  conciseness,  and  precision. 

II.  Another  important  device  for  securing  energy  of  style  is 
the  use  of  specific  and  concrete  terms  rather  than  of  general 
and  abstract  terms. 

53.  Melody,  harmony,  or  music  of  language  is  that  qual- 
ity in  style  which  gives  pleasure  by  the  use  of  euphonious 
words  and  rhythmical  arrangements. 

I.  While  the  "harmony  of  sweet  sounds"  is  an  essential  of 
verse,  it  is  influential  in  prose  also.     Prose  has  its  rhythm 
as  well  as  poetry,  only  it  is  less  artificial  and  more  varied. 
"Rhythm  in  prose,"  says  De  Mille,  "may  be  defined  as  the 
alternate  swelling  and  lessening  of  sound  at  certain  intervals. 
It  refers  to  the  general  effect  of  sentences  and  paragraphs, 
where  the  words  are  chosen  and  arranged  so  as  not  only  to 
express  the  meaning  of  the  writer,  but  also  to  furnish  a  mu- 
sical accompaniment  which  shall  at  once  delight  the  ear  by 
its  sound,  and  help  out  the  sense  by  its  suggestiveness." 

II.  The  following  passage  from  De  Quincey  has  relation  to  the 
subject  of  prose  rhythm,  and  is  further  interesting  as  in  itself 
an  illustration  of  rhythmic  prose : 

"  Where,  out  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  shall  we  hope  to  find  music  so  Miltonic,  an  intona- 
tion of  such  solemn  chords  as  are  struck  in  the  following  opening  bar  of  a  passage  in 
the  Urn-Burial:  '  Now  since  these  bones  have  rested  quietly  in  the  grave,  under  the 
drums  and  tramplings  of  three  conquests,'  etc.  What  a  melodious  ascent  as  of  a  prel- 
ude to  some  impassioned  requiem  breathing  from  the  pomps  of  the  earth  and  from 
the  sanctities  of  the  grave !  What  ^fiuctus  decumanus  of  rhetoric !  Time  expounded 


DEFINITIONS. 


xxvii 


not  by  generations  or  centuries,  but  by  vast  periods  of  conquests  and  dynasties;  by 
cycles  of  Pharaohs  and  Ptolemies,  Antiochi  and  Arsacides!  And  these  vast  succes- 
sions of  time  distinguished  and  figured  by  the  uproars  which  revolve  at  their  inaugura- 
tions—by the  drums  and  tramplings  rolling  overhead  upon  the  chambers  of  forgotten 
dead  — the  trepidations  of  time  and  mortality  vexing,  at  secular  intervals,  the  ever- 
lasting Sabbaths  of  the  grave  !" 


III. 

TYPES   OF  SENTENCES. 

54.  Classification. — Sentences  are  classified  grammatically 
and  rhetorically.     Grammatically,  they  are  divided,  as  re- 
gards structure,  into  simple,  complex,  and  compound ;  and, 
as  regards  use,  into  declarative,  interrogative,  imperative, 
and  exclamative.     Rhetorically,  they  are  divided  into  loose 
sentences  and  periods. 

55.  Divisions  by  Structure. — A  simple  sentence  consists  of 
one  independent  proposition  ;  a  complex  sentence  consists 
of  one  independent  (or  principal)  proposition  and  one  or 
more  clauses ; *    a  compound  sentence  consists  of  two  or 
more  independent  propositions. 

56.  Divisions  by  Use.  —  A  declarative  sentence  is  one  that 
expresses  an  assertion  (that  is,  an  affirmation  or  a  nega- 
tion) ;  an  interrogative  sentence  is  one  that  expresses  a 
question ;  an  imperative  sentence  is  one  that  expresses  a 
command  or  an  entreaty ;  an  exclamative  sentence  is  one 
that  expresses  a  thought  in  an  interjectional  manner. 

57.  A  loose  sentence  consists  of  parts  which  may  be  sep- 
arated without  destroying  the  sense.     Thus: 

The  Puritans  looked  down  with  contempt  on  the  rich  |  and  the  elo- 
quent, |  on  nobles  |  and  priests. 

I.  The  above  is  a  loose  sentence,  because  if  we  pause  at  any 
of  the  places  marked,  the  sense  is  grammatically  complete. 
Sometimes,  as  in  this  instance,  it  is  necessary  to  supply  ellip- 
ses in  order  to  make  the  latter  part  complete ;  in  other  cases, 

1  The  term  clause  is  in  this  book  always  used  in  the  sense  of  a  dependent 
or  subordinate  proposition,  introduced  by  a  connective.  It  is  never  applied 
to  the  independent  members  of  a  compound  sentence. 


xxviii  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE. 

as  in  the  following,  the  latter  part  will  make  complete  sense 
alone :  "  It  seems,  gentlemen,  that  this  is  an  age  of  reason : 
the  time  and  the  person  have  at  last  arrived  that  are  to  dis- 
sipate the  errors  of  past  ages."  Here  a  full  stop  might  be 
put  after  "reason,"  and  the  following  word  begun  with  a  cap- 
ital, thus  converting  the  sentence  into  two  sentences. 
II.  Some  writers  so  punctuate  as  to  appear  to  write  very  long 
sentences,  which  are  really  only  a  union  of  short  ones  in  one 
long  loose  sentence.  Other  writers  (as  Macaulay)  are  in  the 
habit  of  breaking  up  loose  sentences  into  their  constituent 
parts  and  punctuating  them  as  separate  sentences.  This 
practice  gives  rise  to  what  the  French  call  the  style  coupe". 

58.  A  period  is  a  sentence  in  which  the  complete  sense 
is  suspended  until  the  close.     Thus  : 

On  the  rich  and  the  eloquent,  on  nobles  and  priests,  the  Puritans  looked 
down  with  contempt. 

I.  Periods,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  definition,  are  not  very  nu- 
merous, for  in  most  periodic  sentences  a  complete  meaning 
is  reached  somewhat  before  the  close.    Thus  the  first  sen- 
tence of  Paradise  Lost,  if  stopped  at  "  heavenly  Muse,"  would 
be  a  period;  continued  to  "in  prose  or  rhyme,"  it  is,  strictly 
speaking,  loose.     Nevertheless,  sentences  which,  though  not 
absolutely  periods,  yet  tend  towards  that  type,  are  said  to  be 
periodic  in  structure. 

II.  Balanced  Sentence. — The  term  balanced  sentence  is  applied 
to  a  sentence  in  which  the  words,  phrases,  and  clauses  in  one 
part  correspond  with  the  words,  phrases,  and  clauses  in  an- 
other part.    The  balanced  sentence  generally  consists  of  a 
series  of  antitheses,  and  in  this  case  it  is  identical  with  the 
figure  named  parzson,  or  zsocolon.     (See  Def.,  p.  xvii.) 

III.  It  often  happens  that  the  cardinal  distinction  between  the 
style  of  two  writers  is  simply  a  difference  in  the  prevailing 
type  of  sentence  into  which  the  writers  cast  their  thoughts. 
Thus,  marked  as  is  the  contrast  between  the  style  of  Hume 
and  that  of  Gibbon,  analysis  will  show  that  the  principal  char- 
acteristic of  Hume's  style  is  his  habitual  use  of  the  loose  sen- 
tence, and  of  Gibbon's  his  habitual  use  of  the  period. 


DEFINITIONS. 


IV. 

THE   ENGLISH   VOCABULARY. 

59.  The  vocabulary  of  a  language  is  the  whole  body  of 
words  in  that  language.     Hence  the  English  vocabulary 
consists  of  all  the  words  in  the  English  language. 

The  English  vocabulary  is  very  extensive,  as  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  in  our  great  dictionaries  there  are  nearly  100,000 
words.  But  it  should  be  observed  that  3000  or  4000  serve  all 
the  ordinary  purposes  of  oral  and  written  communication. 
The  Old  Testament  contains  5642  words ,  Milton  uses  about 
8000;  and  Shakespeare,  whose  vocabulary  is  more  extensive 
than  that  of  any  other  English  writer,  employs  no  more  than 
15,000  words. 

60.  The  principal  elements  of  the  English  vocabulary  are 
words  of  Anglo-Saxon  and  of  Latin  or  French-Latin  origin. 

61.  Anglo-Saxon  is  the  earliest  form   of  English.     The 
whole  of  the  grammar  of  our  language,  and  the  most 
largely  used  part  of  its  vocabulary,  are  Anglo-Saxon. 

62.  The  Latin  element  in  the  English  vocabulary  con- 
sists of  a  large  number  of  words  of  Latin  origin,  adopted 
directly  into  English  at  various  periods. 

The  principal  periods  during  which  Latin  words  were  brought 
directly  into  English  are . 

1.  At  the  introduction  of  Christianity  into  England  by  the 
Latin  Catholic  missionaries,  A.D.  596. 

2.  At  the  revival  of  classical  learning  in  the  sixteenth  century. 

3.  By  modern  writers. 

63.  The  French-Latin  element  in  the  English  language 
consists  of  French  words,  first  largely  introduced  into  Eng- 
lish by  the  Norman -French,  who  conquered  England  in 
the  eleventh  century  A.D. 

64.  Proportions. — From  examination  of  the  dictionary,  it 


xxx  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

has  been  found  that  of  every  hundred  words  sixty  are  of 
Anglo-Saxon  origin,  thirty  of  Latin,  and  five  of  Greek, 
while  all  the  other  sources  combined  furnish  the  remain- 
ing five.  This,  however,  is  an  inadequate  mode  of  esti- 
mating the  real  proportion  of  the  Anglo  -  Saxon  element 
in  the  English  vocabulary;  the  true  way  of  judging  is  by 
an  examination  of  the  literature. 

The  constant  repetition,  in  any  discourse,  of  conjunctions,  prep- 
ositions, auxiliaries,  and  common  adverbs  (all  of  which  are  of 
Anglo-Saxon  origin)  causes  this  element  greatly  to  prepon- 
derate in  the  pages  of  even  the  most  Latinized  writer.  Thus 
Gibbon  (Decline  and  Fall,  chapter  liv.)  uses  68  per  cent.,  Hal- 
lam  (Constitutional  History,  chapter  vii.)  70  per  cent.,  and 
Burke  (Nabob  of  Arcofs  Debts)  74  per  cent;  while  Scott  (Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,  canto  i.),  Byron  (Prisoner  of  Chillon), 
and  Dickens  (Pickwick  Papers,  "  The  Bagman's  Story  ")  em- 
ploy 90  per  cent.,  and  Defoe,  Bunyan,  and  the  English  Bible 
rise  to  93  per  cent. 

65.  English  a  Composite  Language. — The  great  simplicity 
and  perspicuity  of  words  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin  have  led 
some  writers,  if  not  to  an  overvalue  of  this  element,  at 
least  to  an  undervalue  of  the  classical  element.  This  is  a 
one-sided  view,  and  is  not  justified  by  the  genius  of  Eng- 
lish, which  is  essentially  a  composite  language.  The  clas- 
sical element  is  of  inestimable  value,  and  tends  to  give 
our  speech  that  richness  and  variety  which  so  eminently 
characterize  it. 

The  following  hexameters,  by  William  Wetmore  Story, 
poet  and  sculptor,  present  a  striking  description  of  the 
various  elements  which  contribute  to  the  English  vocab- 
ulary : 

THE  ENGLISH   LANGUAGE. 

i.  Give  me,  of  every  language,  first  my  vigorous  English, 
Stored  with  imported  wealth,  rich  in  its  natural  mines, 
Grand  in  its  rhythmical  cadence,  simple  for  household  employ- 
ment, 
Worthy  the  poet's  song,  fit  for  the  speech  of  man. 


DEFINITIONS. 

AA.XI 

2.  Not  from  one  metal  alone  the  perfectest  mirror  is  shapen, 
Not  from  one  color  is  built  the  rainbow's  aerial  bridge ; 
Instruments  blending  together  yield  the  divinest  of  music, 
Out  of  myriad  of  flowers  sweetest  of  honey  is  drawn. 

3.  So  unto  thy  close  strength  is  welded  and  beaten  together 
Iron  dug  from  the  North,  ductile  gold  from  the  South ; 

So  unto  thy  broad  stream  the  ice-torrents,  born  in  the  mountains, 
Rush,  and  the  rivers  pour,  brimming  with  sun  from  the  plains. 

4.  Thou  hast  the  sharp  clean  edge  and  the  downright  blow  of  the 

Saxon, 

Thou  the  majestical  march  and  the  stately  pomp  of  the  Latin ; 

Thou  the  euphonious  swell,  the  rhythmical  roll  of  the  Greek ; 

Thine  is  the  elegant  suavity  caught  from  sonorous  Italian ; 

Thine  the  chivalric  obeisance,  the  courteous  grace  of  the  Nor- 
man ; 

Thine  the  Teutonic  German's  inborn  guttural  strength. 

5.  Raftered  by  firm-laid  consonants,  windowed  by  opening  vowels, 
Thou  securely  art  built,  free  to  the  sun  and  the  air ; 

Over  thy  feudal  battlements  trail  the  wild  tendrils  of  fancy, 

Where  in  the  early  morn  warbled  our  earliest  birds  ; 

Science  looks  out  from  thy  watch-tower,  love  whispers  in  at  thy 

lattice, 
While  o'er  thy  bastions  wit  flashes  its  glittering  sword. 

6.  Not  by  corruption  rotted,  nor  slowly  by  ages  degraded, 

Have  the  sharp  consonants  gone  crumbling  away  from  our  words ; 
Virgin  and  clean  is  their  edge,  like  granite  blocks  chiselled  by 

Egypt; 
Just  as  when  Shakespeare  and  Milton  laid  them  in  glorious  verse. 

7.  Fitted  for  every  use  like  a  great  majestical  river, 
Blending  thy  various  streams,  stately  thou  flowest  along, 
Bearing  the  white-winged  ship  of  Poesy  over  thy  bosom, 
Laden  with  spices  that  come  out  of  the  tropical  isles, 
Fancy's  pleasuring  yacht  with  its  bright  and  fluttering  pennons, 
Logic's  frigates  of  war,  and  the  toil-worn  barges  of  trade. 

8.  How  art  thou  freely  obedient  unto  the  poet  or  speaker, 
When,  in  a  happy  hour,  thought  into  speech  he  translates' 


xxxii  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Caught  on  the  word's  sharp  angles  flash  the  bright  hues  of  his 

fancy ; 
Grandly  the  thought  rides  the  words,  as  -a  good  horseman  his 

steed. 

9.  Now,  clear,  pure,  hard,  bright,  and  one  by  one,  like  to  hailstones, 
Short  words  fall  from  his  lips  fast  as  the  first  of  a  shower ; 
Now  in  a  twofold  column,  Spondee,  Iamb,  and  Trochee, 
Unbroke,  firm-set,  advance,  retreat,  trampling  along ; 
Now  with  a  sprightlier  springiness,  bounding  in  triplicate  syl- 
lables, 

Dance  the  elastic  Dactylics  in  musical  cadences  on ; 
Now,  their  voluminous  coil  intertangling  like  huge  anacondas, 
Roll  overwhelmingly  onward  the  sesquipedalian  words. 

10.  Flexile  and  free  in  thy  gait  and  simple  in  all  thy  construction, 
Yielding  to  every  turn,  thou  bearest  thy  rider  along ; 

Now  like  our  hackney  or  draught  horse,  serving  our  commonest 

uses, 
Now  bearing  grandly  the  poet,  Pegasus-like,  to  the  sky. 

11.  Thou  art  not  prisoned  in  fixed  rules,  thou  art  no  slave  to  a 

grammar ; 

Thou  art  an  eagle  uncaged,  scorning  the  perch  and  the  chain. 

Hadst  thou  been  fettered  and  formalized,  thou  hadst  been  tamer 
and  weaker ; 

How  could  the  poor  slave  walk  with  thy  grand  freedom  of  gait  ? 

Let,  then,  grammarians  rail,  and  let  foreigners  sigh  for  thy  sign- 
posts, 

Wandering  lost  in  thy  maze,  thy  wilds  of  magnificent  growth.    , 

12.  Call  thee  incongruous,  wild,  of  rule  and  of  reason  defiant; 
I  in  thy  wildness  a  grand  freedom  of  character  find. 

So  with  irregular  outline  tower  up  the  sky-piercing  mountains, 
Rearing  o'er  yawning  chasms  lofty  precipitous  steeps ; 
Spreading  o'er  ledges  unclimbable,  meadows  and  slopes  of  green 

smoothness ; 
Bearing  the  flowers  in  their  clefts,  losing  their  peaks  in  the 

clouds. 

13.  Therefore  it  is  that  I  praise  thee  and  never  can  cease  from  re- 

joicing, 

Thinking  that  good  stout  English  is  mine  and  my  ancestor's 
tongue ; 


DEFINITIONS.  xxxiii 

Give  me  its  varying  music,  the  flow  of  its  free  modulation, 
I  will  not  covet  the  full  roll  of  the  glorious  Greek, 
Luscious  and  feeble  Italian,  Latin  so  formal  and  stately, 
French  with  its  nasal  lisp,  nor  German  inverted  and  harsh, 
Not  while  our  organ  can  speak  with  its  many  and  wonderful 

voices. 

Play  on  the  soft  flute  of  love,  blow  the  loud  trumpet  of  war, 
Sing  with  the  high  sesquialtro,  or,  drawing  its  full  diapason, 
Shake  all  the  air  with  the  grand  storm  of  its  pedals  and  stops. 

W.  W.  STORY, 


I 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.1 

1564-1616. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  DR.  JOHNSON.1 
i.  SHAKESPEARE  is,  above  all  writers — at  least,  above  all  modern 
writers — the  poet  of  nature ;  the  poet  that  holds  up  to  his  read- 
ers a  faithful  mirror  of  manners  and  of  life.     His  characters  are 

1  The  correct  spelling  of  the  poet's  name  has  long  been  a  matter  of  dispute 
among  scholars.    "  The  name  is  found  in  the  manuscripts  of  his  period  spelled 


2  SHAKESPEARE. 

not  modified  by  the  customs  of  particular  places,  unpractised  by 
the  rest  of  the  world ;  by  the  peculiarities  of  studies  or  profes- 
sions, which  can  operate  but  upon  small  numbers ;  or  by  the  ac- 
cidents of  transient  fashions  or  temporary  opinions  :  they  are  the 
genuine  progeny  of  common  humanity,  such  as  the  world  will 
always  supply  and  observation  will  always  find.  His  persons 
act  and  speak  by  the  influence  of  those  general  passions  and 
principles  by  which  all  minds  are  agitated  and  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  life  13  continued  in  motion.  In  the  writings  of  other 
poets  ii  character  is  too  often  an  individual ;  in  those  of  Shake- 
speare it  is  commonly  a  species. 

2.  It  is  fi-orn  this  wide  extension  of  design  that  so  much  in- 
struction is  derived.    It  is  this  which  fills  the  plays  of  Shakespeare 
with  practical  axioms  and  domestic  wisdom.     It  was  said  of  Eu- 
ripides that  every  verse  was  a  precept ;  and  it  may  be  said  of 
Shakespeare  that  from  his  works  may  be  collected  a  system  of 
civil  and  economical  prudence.    Yet  his  real  power  is  not  shown 
in  the  splendor  of  particular  passages,  but  by  the  progress  of  his 
fable  and  the  tenor  of  his  dialogue ;  and  he  that  tries  to  recom- 
mend him  by  select  quotations  will  succeed  like  the  pedant  in 
Hierocles,  who,  when  he  offered  his  house  to  sale,  carried  a  brick 
in  his  pocket  as  a  specimen. 

3.  Upon  every  other  stage   the  universal   agent  is  love,  by 
whose  power  all  good  and  evil  are  distributed,  and  every  action 
quickened  or  retarded.     But  love  is  only  one  of  many  passions  ; 
and  as  it  has  no  great  influence  upon  the  sum  of  life,  it  has  little 
operation  in  the  dramas  of  a  poet  who  caught  his  ideas  from  the 
living  world,  and  exhibited  only  what  he  saw  before  him.     He 
knew  that  any  other  passion,  as  it  was  regular  or  exorbitant,  was 
a  cause  of  happiness  or  calamity.     This,  therefore,  is  the  praise 


with  all  varieties  of  letters  and  arrangement  of  letters  which  express  its  sound 
or  a  semblance  of  it."  On  this  matter  there  are  two  points  of  interest — first, 
how  the  poet  himself  wrote  the  name,  and,  secondly,  how  it  was  printed  under 
his  eye.  Touching  the  first  point,  Sir  Frederic  Madden  has  shown  that  in 
che  acknowledged  genuine  signatures  in  existence  "the  poet  always  wrote  his 
name  SHAKSPERE."  On  the  other  hand,  the  printers,  during  his  life,  and 
in  the  folio  of  1623.  spell  the  name  SHAKESPEARE;  and  this  spelling  is 
now  generally  followed,  on  the  theory  that  the  poet  thus  gave  it  a  sort  of  for- 
mal recognition. 


JOHNSON'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  SHAKESPEARE.     3 

of  Shakespeare,  that  his  drama  is  the  mirror  of  life  ;  that  he  who 
has  mazed  his  imagination  in  following  the  phantoms  which 
other  writers  raise  up  before  him  may  here  be  cured  of  his  de- 
lirious ecstasies  by  reading  human  sentiments  in  human  lan- 
guage, by  scenes  from  which  a  hermit  may  estimate  the  transac- 
tions of  the  world,  and  a  confessor  predict  the  progress  of  the 
passions. 

4.  Shakespeare's  plays  are  not,  in  the  rigorous  and  critical 
sense,  either  tragedies  or  comedies,  but  compositions  of  a  dis- 
tinct kind ;  exhibiting  the  real  state  of  sublunary  nature,  which 
partakes  of  good  and  evil,  joy  and  sorrow,  mingled  with  endless 
variety  of  proportion  and  innumerable  modes  of  combination ; 
and  expressing  the  course  of  the  world,  in  which  the  loss  of  one 
is  the  gain  of  another ;  in  which,  at  the  same  time,  the  reveller 
is  hasting  to  his  wine,  and  the  mourner  burying  his  friend ;  in 
which  the  malignity  of  one  is  sometimes  defeated  by  the  frolic 
of  another,  and   many  mischiefs  and  many  benefits  are  done 
and  hindered  without  design. 

5.  Shakespeare  has  united  the  powers  of  exciting  laughter  and 
sorrow  not  only  in  one  mind,  but  in  one  composition.     Almost 
all  his  plays  are  divided  between  serious  and  ludicrous  charac- 
ters, and,  in  the  successive  evolutions  of  the  design,  sometimes 
produce  seriousness  and  sorrow,  and  sometimes  levity  and  laugh- 
ter.    That  this  is  a  practice  contrary  to  the  rules  of  criticism 
will  be  readily  allowed;  but  there  is  always  an  appeal  open 
from  criticism  to  nature.     The  end  of  writing  is  to  instruct ;  the 
end  of  poetry  is  to  instruct  by  pleasing.     That  the  mingled  drama 
may  convey  all  the  instruction  of  tragedy  or  comedy  cannot  be 
denied,  because  it  includes  both  in  its  alternations  of  exhibition, 
and  approaches  nearer  than  either  to  the  appearance  of  life,  by 
showing  how  great  machinations  and  slender  designs  may  pro- 
mote or  obviate  one  another,  and  the  high  and  the  low  co-oper- 
ate in  the  general  system  by  unavoidable  concatenation. 

6.  The  force  of  his  comic  scenes  has  suffered  little  diminution 
from  the  changes  made  by  a  century  and  a  half  in  manners  or 
in  words.     As  his  personages  act  upon  principles  arising  from 
genuine  passion,  very  little  modified  by  particular  forms,  their 
pleasures  and  vexations  are  communicable  to  all  times  and  to  all 
places ;  they  are  natural,  and  therefore  durable.     The  advent!- 


4  SHAKESPEARE. 

tious  peculiarities  of  personal  habits  are  orily  superficial  dyes, 
bright  and  pleasing  for  a  little  while,  yet  soon  fading  to  a  dim 
tinct,  without  any  remains  of  former  lustre.  But  the  discrimina- 
tions of  true  passion  are  the  colors  of  nature :  they  pervade  the 
whole  mass,  and  can  only  perish  with  the  body  that  exhibits 
them.  The  accidental  compositions  of  heterogeneous  modes 
are  dissolved  by  the  chance  which  combined  them  ;  but  the 
uniform  simplicity  of  primitive  qualities  neither  admits  increase 
nor  suffers  decay.  The  sand  heaped  by  one  flood  is  scattered 
by  another ;  but  the  rock  always  continues  in  its  place.  The 
stream  of  time,  which  is  continually  washing  the  dissoluble  fab- 
rics of  other  poets,  passes  without  injury  by  the  adamant  of 
Shakespeare. 


MILTON'S  TRIBUTE  TO  SHAKESPEARE. 

What  needs  my  Shakespeare  for  his  honored  bones 

The  labor  of  an  age  in  piled  stones, 

Or  that  his  hallowed  relics  should  be  hid 

Under  a  star-ypointing 1  pyramid  ? 

Dear  son  of  memory,  great  heir  of  fame, 

What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy  name  ? 

Thou  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 

Hast  built  thyself  a  livelong  monument : 

For  whilst  to  th'  shame  of  slow-endeavoring  art 

Thy  easy  numbers  flow,  and  that  each  heart 

Hath  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued 2  book 

Those  Delphic  lines  with  deep  impression  took. 

Then  thou,  our  fancy  of  itself  bereaving, 

Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiving ; 

And  so  sepulchred  in  such  pomp  dost  lie 

That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die. 

1  Star-ypointing,  star-pointing.     The  y  ( =  Anglo-Saxon  ge,  the  prefix  of  the 
<tast  participle)  is  here  wrongly  used  in  combination  with  a  present  participle. 
a  Unvalued,  invaluable. 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


I.— THE   FUNERAL  OF  JULIUS   CAESAR. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  passage  here  given  forms  the  second  scene,  act  iii., 
of  Shakespeare's  play  of  Julius  Caesar  (written  about  1600,  and  first  printed  in 
1623).  The  events  represented  immediately  follow  the  assassination  of  Caesar, 
B.C.  44.  Mark  Antony,  a  friend  of  Caesar,  had  been  allowed  by  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  the  leaders  of  the  conspiracy,  "  to  speak  at  Caesar's  funeral."  Cassius 
had  objected  to  granting  Antony  this  privilege, lest  his  words  should  "move" 
the  people  ;  but  Brutus  overcame  this  by  proposing  that  he  should  himself 
speak  first  and  "show  the  reason  of  our  Caesar's  death."  The  scene  opens 
with  the  Roman  populace  clamoring  to  know  this  reason.] 
Scene  —  The  Forum  in  Rome.  Present  —  BRUTUS  and  CASSIUS  and  a  throng  of 

Citizens. 

I. 

Citizens.  We  will  be  satisfied  ;*  let  us  be  satisfied. 

Brutus.  Then  follow  me,  and  give  me  audience,*  friends. — 
Cassius,  go  you  into  the  other  street, 
And  part  the  numbers. — 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak,  let  'em  stay  here  ; 
Those  that  will  follow  Cassius,  go  with  him  ; 
And  public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 
Of  Caesar's  death.  


NOTES.— Line  I.  We  ...  satisfied:  that 
is,  We  are  determined  to  receive 
a  satisfactory  explanation  of  the 
killing  of  Csesar. 

4.  part,  etc.,  divide  the  multitude. 


7.  public  reasons . . .  rendered.     "  Public 

reasons  "  =  reasons  of  a  public 
nature  ;  "  rendered  "  =  given. 
The  rhythm  makes  the  word  a 
trisyllable. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— What  is  the  nature  of  the  verse  in  which  this  play 
(save  in  its  prose  parts)  is  written  ?    Ans.  It  is  blank  verse.     Define  (see  Def. 
13).— What  is  the  measure  ?    Ans.  The  measure  is  pentameter,  consisting  of 
five  feet  of  two  syllables  each,  with  the  accent  on  the  second ;  thus- 
Then  fol'  |  low  me',  |  and  give'  |  me  au'  |  dience,  friends'. 

1.  satisfied.     What  is  the  etymology  of  this  word  ?    (See  Glossary.) 

2.  audience.     Derivation  of?    What  is  the  distinction  between  audience  (z 
stract)  and  an  audience  ? 

2, 3.  Then  follow,  etc.     Cassius,  go,  etc.     What  kind  of  sentences  are  1 
grammatically  considered  ?     (See  Def.  64.) 
5.  'em :  a  contraction  of  what  ? 

*  The  asterisk  [«]  in  this  book  always  indicates  that  the  word  to  which  it  is 
affixed  will  be  found  in  the  Glossary. 


SHAKESPEARE. 


First  Citizen.  I  will  hear  Brutus  speak. 

Second  Citizen.  I  will  hear  Cassius ;  and  compare  their  reasons,  10 
When  severally  we  hear  them  rendered. 

[.Exit*  Cassius,  with  some  of  the  Citizens.    Brutus  goes  into  the 
pulpit.} 

Third  Citizen.  The  noble  Brutus  is  ascended  :  silence  ! 

Brutus.  Be  patient  till  the  last. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !  hear  me  for  my  cause,  and  be 
silent,  that  you  may  hear ;  believe  me  for  mine  honor,  and  have  13 
respect  to  mine  honor,  that  you  may  believe;  censure*  me  in 
your  wisdom,  and  awake  your  senses,  that  you  may  the  better 
judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly,  any  dear  friend  of 
Caesar's,  to  him  I  say  that  Brutus'  love  to  Caesar  was  no  less 
than  his.  If  then  that  friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose  against  20 
Caesar,  this  is  my  answer :  Not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but 
that  I  loved  Rome  more.  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living, 
and  die  all  slaves,  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  free 
men  ?  As  Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him ;  as  he  was  fortu- 
nate, I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  him :  but,  as  25 


10.  and  compare:    that   is,  and   let   us 

compare. 

[The  "  pulpit "  here  means  the  ele- 
vated platform  called  rostrum, 
from  which  orators  addressed 
the  people.] 

12.  is  ascended.   We  should  now  use  the 
auxiliary  has;   but  in   Shake- 


speare's time  (as  also  long  after- 
wards) the  compound  tenses  of 
verbs  of  motion  were  general- 
ly formed  with  the  auxiliary  to 
be,  and  not  as  now  with  to  have. 

14.  lovers,  friends. 

16.  censure  me:  that  is,  judge  me,  form 
an  opinion  of  me. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 10.  and  compare.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

14-32.  Romans,  countrymen  .  . .  reply.  Is  the  speech  of  Brutus  that  of  one 
who  is  convinced  of  the  justice  of  his  cause  ?  Does  it,  at  the  same  time  show 
that  he  deemed  that  it  would  require  an  effort  to  convince  others  of  it  ?  Hence 
what  is  the  tenor  of  the  speech — argumentative  or  emotional  ?  May  this  ac- 
count for  its  being  in  prose  ? 

14-18.  Romans .  . .  judge.  Show  the  corresponding  parts  in  this  balanced 
sentence.  (See  Def.  58,  ii.)  What  words  are  effectively  repeated  ?  What 
synonym  is  used  for  "  censure  ?" 

24-26.  As  Csesar  .  .  .  him.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  this  sentence? 
See  Def.  83.)  What  subsequent  sentence  has  the  same  figure  ? 


JULIUS 


he  was  ambitious,*  I  slew  him.  There  is  tears  for  his  love  ;  joy 
for  his  fortune;  honor  for  his  valor;  and  death  for  his  am- 
bition. Who  is  here  so  base  that  would  be  a  bondman  ?  If 
any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  rude* 
that  would  not  be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak ;  for  him  have  1 3o 
offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile  that  will  not  love  his  country? 
If  any,  speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  I  pause  for  a  reply. 

AIL  None,  Brutus,  none. 

Brutus.  Then  none  have  I  offended.     I  have  done  no  more 
to  Caesar  than  you  shall  do  to  Brutus.     The  question  of  his  35 
death  is  enrolled  in  the   Capitol;  his  glory  not  extenuated* 
wherein  he  was  worthy,  nor  his  offences  enforced  for  which  he 
suffered  death. 

Enter  ANTONY  and  others,  with  CAESAR'S  body. 
Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony :  who,  though 
he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive  the  benefit  of  his  dy-  40 
ing,  a  place  in  the  commonwealth ;  as  which  of  you  shall  not  ? 
With  this  I  depart — that,  as  I  slew  my  best  lover  for  the  good 


29.  rude,  barbarous. 

35,  36.  The  question  .  .  .  enrolled  —  the 

matter  of  his  death  (as  far  as 
calling  for  official  explanation) 
is  registered. 

37.  enforced,  overstated,  exaggerated. 

41.  as  which  of  you,  etc.     Brutus  here 


insinuates  that  they  had  been 
deprived  of  their  independence 
under  the  tyranny  of  Caesar,  but 
that  now  they  should  have  their 
full  rights,  their  "  place  in  the 
commonwealth." 
42.  my  best  loyer  —  him  I  loved  best. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 26.  ambitious.  What  is  the  literal  meaning  of  this 
word?— There  is.  The  construction  "there  is"  followed  by  a  plural  or  by 
several  subjects  occurs  frequently  in  Shakespeare,  but  it  is  not  authorized  by 
modern  grammatical  rule. 

29-32.  Who  is  here . .  .  offended.  Suppose  these  three  interrogatories  had 
been  united  in  one,  would  they  have  been  as  effective  as  they  are  now  ?  Try 
this  arrangement  and  compare. 

30.  him  hare  I,  etc.  Is  this  the  direct  or  the  rhetorical  order  ?  (See  Def.  46.) 
What  is  the  result  ? 

[Give  the  derivation  of  "censure"  (16);  how  does  its  Shakespearian  differ 
from  its  modern  meaning?  Etymology  of  "rude"  (29)?  Of  "extenuate" 
(36)?] 


SHAKESPEARE. 


5° 


of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  myself  when  it  shall  please 
my  country  to  need  my  death. 

All.  Live,  Brutus  !  live,  live  ! 

First  Citizen.  Bring  him  with  triumph  home  unto  his  house. 

Second  Citizen.  Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

Third  Citizen.  Let  him  be.  Caesar. 

Fourth  Citizen.  Caesar's  better  parts 

Shall  be  crowned  in  Brutus. 

First  Citizen.  We'll  bring  him  to  his  house  with  shouts  and 
clamors. 

Brutus.  My  countrymen, — 

Second  Citizen.  Peace,  silence  !  Brutus  speaks. 

First  Citizen.  Peace,  ho  ! 

Brutus.  Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  alone, 
And  for  my  sake  stay  here  with  Antony. 
Do  grace  to  Caesar's  corpse,*  and  grace  his  speech 
Tending  to  Caesar's  glories,  which  Mark  Antony, 
By  our  permission,  is  allowed  to  make. 
I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart, 
Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke. 


55 


{Exit. 


47.  a  statue,  etc.  Brutus  (Marcus  Ju- 
nius)  was  reputed  to  be  a  de- 
scendant of  the  elder  Brutus 
(Lucius  Junius,  about  500  B.C.), 
who  expelled  Tarquin,  and 


thus     ended     kingly     rule     in 

Rome. 

58.  Do  grace  —  do  honor. 
6i.  not ...  depart:    that   is,  let   not   a 

man  depart. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 43.  I  have  the  same  dagger,  etc.  From  what  does  the 
energy  of  this  expression  arise  ?  (See  Def.  52,  ii.)  Suppose  a  general  instead 
of  a  specific  term  had  been  used  —  thus,  "As  I  slew  my  best  lover  for  the 
good  of  Rome,  so  I  am  prepared  to  meet  the  same  fate,"  etc. — would  the  ex- 
pression be  as  energetic? — Did  Brutus  actually  put  an  end  to  his  life?  Under 
what  circumstances?  (Consult  Roman  History.) 

58.  corpse.  Give  the  derivation  of  this  word,  and  explain  its  meaning. 
What  was  the  form  of  the  word  in  Shakspeare's  time  ?  (See  Glossary.)  What 
is  another  modern  form  of  this  word  ? 

62.  Save  I  alone.  This  is  an  irregular  construction,  since  "  save,"  whether 
regarded  as  a  verb  imperative  (which  it  is  in  origin)  or  as  a  preposition  (which 
it  is  in  use),  requires  its  object  in  the  objective  case.1 — spoke,  curtailed  form 
(common  in  Shakespeare)  for  spoken. 


1  Abbott  (Shakespearian  Grammar,  p.  81)  suggests  that  "save  seems  to  be 
used  for  saved" —  7  being  the  nominative  absolute. 


JULIUS 


II. 

First  Citizen.  Stay,  ho !  and  let  us  hear  Mark  Antony. 

Third  Citizen.  Let  him  go  up  into  the  public  chair ; 
We'll  hear  him. — Noble  Antony,  go  up.  6s 

Antony.  For  Brutus'  sake,  I  am  beholding*  to  you.    [Goes  up. 

Fourth  Citizen.  What  does  he  say  of  Brutus  ? 

Third  Citizen.  He  says,  for  Brutus'  sake, 

He  finds  himself  beholding  to  us  all. 

Fourth  Citizen.  'Twere  best  he  speak  no  harm  of  Brutus  here.  70 

First  Citizen.  This  Caesar  was  a  tyrant. 

Third  Citizen.  Nay,  that's  certain  : 

We're  blessed  that  Rome  is  rid  of  him. 

Third  Citizen.  Peace  !  let  us  hear  what  Antony  can  say. 

Antony.  You  gentle  Romans —  75 

Citizens.  Peace,  ho  !  let  us  hear  him. 

Antony.   Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears  : 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them, 

The  good  is  oft  interred  *  with  their  bones  ;  8c, 

So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you  Caesar  was  ambitious. 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, — 


64.  public  chair:  that  is,  the  "pulpit," 
or  rostrum,  from  which  Brutus 
had  spoken. 

66.  beholding,  beholden,  obliged. 


81.  So  let  It  be  with  Caesar:  that  is,  let 
his  goodness  be  buried  with 
him,  and  not  made  the  theme 
of  my  praise. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  77.  Friends,  Romans,  etc.  In  this  speech,  the  aim 
of  Antony  (unlike  that  of  Brutus)  was  to  move  the  feelings  of  his  audience. 
But  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  do  so  covertly ;  for  when  he  obtained  permis- 
sion to  speak,  he  was,  by  Brutus,  placed  under  this  limitation — 

"  You  shall  not  in  your  funeral  speech  blame  us." 

Considering  the  delicacy  of  the  task,  what  do  you  think  of  the  speech?    Give 
reasons  for  your  opinion. 

77.  lend  me  your  ears.    What  figure  of  speech?    (See  Def.  29.)    Change  into 
plain  language. 

78.  I  come  to  bury  Casar,  etc.    What  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  18.) 

79.  80.  liyes  ...  is  interred.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  I  if.  18. >- 
Give  the  derivation  of  inter. 


SHAKESPEARE. 


And  grievously  nath  Caesar  answered  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus  and  the  rest — 

For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man ; 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men — 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 

But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers*  fill : 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept : 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff. 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see  that  on  the  Lupercal 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause ; 

What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason  ! — Bear  with  me  ; 


95 


105 


84.  answered  it:   that  is,  answered  for 

it,  atoned  for  it. 
88.  in,  at. 

93.  general  coffers,  the  public  treasury. 
99.  on  the  Lupercal.    The  festival  of  the 

Lupercalia,  one  of  the  most  an- 


cient Roman  festivals,  was  held 
every  year  on  the  I5th  of  Feb- 
ruary in  the  Lupercal,  a  cave  or 
grotto  where  Romulus  and  Re- 
mus were  said  to  have  been  nur- 
tured by  the  she-wolf. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 86.  honorable.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See 
Def.  26.)  Point  out  subsequent  uses  of  the  word,  and  show  how  the  irony  in- 
creases. 

94.  Did  this,  etc.  What  is  the  effect  of  using  the  interrogative  form  here  ? 
Point  out  another  instance  of  its  use  in  the  same  speech. 

108.  Remark  on  the  expression  "brutish  beasts." 


JULIUS  C&SAR. 


1 1 


My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

First  Citizen.  Methinks*  there  is  much  reason  in  his  sayings. 

Second  Citizen.  If  thou  consider  rightly  of  the  matter, 
Caesar  has  had  great  wrong. 

Third  Citizen.  Has  he,  masters  ? 

I  fear  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

Fourth  Citizen.  Marked  ye  his  words  ?     He  would  not-  take 

the  crown  ; 
Therefore  'tis  certain  he  was  not  ambitious. 

First  Citizen.  If  it  be  found  so,  some  will  dear  abide  it. 

Second  Citizen.  Poor  soul !  his  eyes  are  red  as  fire  with  weep- 
ing. 

Third  Citizen.  There's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome  than  Antony. 

Fourth  Citizen.  Now  mark  him,  he  begins  again  to  speak. 

Antony.  But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  'world ;  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters  !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong  ;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Caesar— 

I  found  it  in  his  closet— 'tis  his  will : 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament* 


'30 


»35 


112.  Methinks,  it  appears  to  me. 
120.  dear  abide  it:   that   is,  will   suffer 
dearly  for  it. 


127.  so  poor  =  so  poor  as. 
137.  commons,  the  people,  the  plebe- 
ians. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— no.  My  heart ...  In  the  coffin,  etc.    What  figure  of 
speech  ?     (See  Def.  34.) 

in.  I  must  pause.     Why  does  Antony  pause?    Contrast  the  pausing  o 
Brutus  (32). 

112.  Methinks.     Explain  this  form. 

1 13.  If  thou  consider,  etc.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

134.  Than  I  will  wrong.    This  is  a  grammatical  irregularity ;  correspondence 
of  terms  requires  the  form  than  to  wrong,  etc. 


12 


SHAKESPEARE. 


(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read), 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  dip  their  napkins*  in  his  sacred  blood;  140 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 

Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy* 

Unto  their  issue. 

Fourth  Citizen.  We'll  hear  the  will.     Read  it,  Mark  Antony.     145 

Citizens.  The  will,  the  will !  we  will  hear  Caesar's  will. 

Antony.  Have  patience,  gentle  friends  ;  I  must  not  read  it : 
It  is  not  meet*  you  know  how  Caesar  loved  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men ; 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Caesar,  i50 

It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad. 
'Tis  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs  ; 
For,  if  you  should,  O,  what  would  come  of  it ! 

Fourth  Citizen.  Read  the  will  !  we'll  hear  it,  Antony ; 
You  shall  read  us  the  will !     Caesar's  will !  i55 

Antony.  Will  you  be  patient  ?    Will  you  stay  awhile  ? 
I  have  o'ershot  myself,  to  tell  you  of  it. 
I  fear  I  wrong  the  honorable  men 
Whose  daggers  have  stabbed  Caesar ;  I  do  fear  it. 

Fourth  Citizen.  They  were  traitors  !     Honorable  men  !  ,6c 

Citizens.  The  will !  the  testament ! 


140.  napkins,  handkerchiefs. 

157.  o'ershot  myself:    that    is,   I    have 


gone    too    far,    revealed    too 
much. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Give  the  etymology  of  "  testament  "  (137) ;  of  "  nap- 
kins" (140);  of  "legacy"  (143);  of  "meet"  (148). 

142-144.  And,  dying, . . .  issue.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  34.) 

146.  we  will.     What  is  the  force  of  "  will  ?" 

148.  It  is  not  meet ... .  loyed  you.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

155.  You  shall  read.     What  is  the  force  of  "  shall  ?" 

157.  I  hare  o'ershot  myself.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  20.) 
Change  into  a  simile.  (See  Def.  20,  ii.)  [In  archery  the  one  who  was  beaten 
in  shooting  was  said  to  be  overshot.} 

159.  Whose  daggers  have  stabbed  Caesar.  What  makes  this  form  of  expression 
extremely  energetic  ?  (See  Def.  52,  ii.)  Compare  with  "  v/ho  have  put  Csesai 
to  death." 


JULIUS 


170 


'75 


Second  Citizen.  They  were  villains,  murderers.   The  will !   Read 
the  will ! 

Antony.  You  will  compel  me,  then,  to  read  the  will  ? 
Then  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Caesar,  X65 

And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 
Shall  I  descend  ?     And  will  you  give  me  leave  ? 

Citizens.  Come  down.  \Jfe  comes  down. 

Second  Citizen.  Descend. 

Third  Citizen.  You  shall  have  leave. 

Fourth  Citizen.  A  ring  !  stand  round. 

First  Citizen.  Stand  from  the  hearse  ;  stand  from  the  body. 

Second  Citizen.  Room  for  Antony  ! — most  noble  Antony ! 

Antony.  Nay,  press  not  so  upon  me  ;  stand  far  off. 

Several  Citizens.  Stand  back  !  room  !  bear  back  ! 

Antony.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. 
Look  !  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through. 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made ! 
Through  this  the  well-belove'd  Brutus  stabbed ; 
And  as  he  plucked  his  curse'd  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it, 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked,  or  no  ; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him  ! 


,85 


172.  Stand  from  =  stand  away  from. 

175.  bear  back  =  get  farther  back. 

180.  the  Nervii,  a  warlike  tribe  of  Gaul, 
whom  Caesar  nefeated  in  one  of 
his  most  closely  contested  and 
decisive  battles,  B.C.  57. 


1 86.  As  rushing  =  as  if  rushing. 

1 88.  Csesar's  angel:  that  is,  was  as  in- 
separable from  him  as  his  guar- 
dian angel.  Craik  understands 
it  as  "simply  his  best  beloved, 
his  darling."— ROLFE. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 178.  The  first  time  ever.     Supply  the  relative. 
1 80.  That  day.     What  is  the   grammatical  construction  of  "day?" 
Svvinton's  New  English  Grammar,  §  105,  ix.  and  note.} 


I4  SHAKESPEARE. 

This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ;  «go 

For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him.     Then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 

And  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue,*  195 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 

Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 

O,  now  you  weep,  and  I  perceive  you  feel  200 

The  dint*  of  pity  :  these  are  gracious  drops. 

Kind  souls,  what.weep  you  when  you  but  behold 

Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  you  here, 

Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. 

First  Citizen.  O  piteous  spectacle  !  203 

Second  Citizen.  O  noble  Caesar  ! 

Third  Citizen.  O  wof  ul  day ! 

Fourth  Citizen.  O  traitors,  villains  ! 

First  Citizen.  O  most  bloody  sight ! 

Second  Citizen.  We  will  be  revenged.  210 

Citizens.  Revenge — about — seek — burn — fire — kill — slay, — let 
not  a  traitor  live  ! 

Antony.   Stay,  countrymen. 

First  Citizen.  Peace  there  !  hear  the  noble  Antony. 

Second  Citizen.  We'll  hear  him,  we'll  follow  him,  we'll  die  with  215 
him. 

195.  statue.     The  word  is  here  pro-    201.  dint,  impression,  emotion, 
nounced  as  a  trisyllable.  204.  marred  with,  mangled  by. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Give  the  etymology  of  "statue"  (195);  of  "dint" 
(201). 

187.  or  no.     What  adverb  would  now  be  used? 

190.  mosx  unkindest.  This  is  not  to  be  flippantly  condemned  as  a  pleonasm ; 
for,  though  contrary  to  modern  usage,  the  doubling  of  comparatives  and  super- 
latives was  a  common  idiom  in  Shakespeare's  time  :  thus  we  have  the  expres- 
sions "  more  elder,''  "  more  better,"  "  most  boldest,"  "  most  worst,"  etc.,  the 
adverbs  being  intensive. 

211.  Revenge  .  .  .  slay.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

215.  We'll  hear. . .  die.  Point  out  the  figure.  (See  Def.  33.)  What  is  the 
effect  of  repeating  "  we'll  ?" 


JULIUS  C&SAR.  I5 

Antony.  Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable  : 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not,  230 

That  made  them  do  't ;  they're  wise  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  : 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 

But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man,  22S 

That  love  my  friend ;  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 
For  I  have  neither  wit,*  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood  :  I  only  speak  right  on  ;  230 

I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know ; 
Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me  :  but  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 

Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue  235 

In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

Citizens.  We'll  mutiny. 

first  Citizen.  We'll  burn  the  house  of  Brutus. 

Third  Citizen.  Away,  then  !  come,  seek  the  conspirators.*         240 

220.  griefs,  grievances.  I  228.  wit,  intellectual  power. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 217-237.  In  this  speech  of  twenty-one  lines  (one 
hundred  and  eighty-three  words),  only  fourteen  wards — proper  names  excepted 
—are  of  other  than  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  (See  Def.  49, 1.)  Point  out  these  ex- 
ceptions. Why  does  Shakespeare  here  use  so  large  a  proportion  of  native 
words  ? — Point  out  an  example  of  alliteration  (see  Def.  37)  in  this  speech. 

218.  guch  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny.     From  what  is  the  metaphor  taken? 

221,  222.  they're  wise  . . .  answer  you.     What  three  words  are  used  ironically  ? 

223.  to  steal  away  your  hearts.     Change  this  into  plain  language. 

224-230.  What  do  you  suppose  to  be  Antony's  purpose  in  seeking  to  make 
the  audience  think  he  was  "no  orator?" 

228.  wit.     How  does  "  wit  "  as  here  used  differ  from  its  modern  meaning  ? 

230.  To  stir  men's  blood.     Change  into  plain  language. 

235.  Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits.     Explain  this  expression. 

236,  237.  should  move  The  stones,  etc.    What  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  84.) 
240.  conspirators.     Give  the  etymology  of  this  word. 


1 6  SHAKESPEARE. 

Antony.  Yet  hear  me,  countrymen  ;  yet  hear  me  speak. 

Citizens.  Peace,  ho  !  hear  Antony ;  most  noble  Antony. 

Antony.  Why,  friends,  you  go  to  do  you  know  not  what. 
Wherein  hath  Caesar  thus  deserved  your  loves  ? 
Alas,  you  know  not : — I  must  tell  you,  then.  245 

You  have  forgot  the  will  I  told  you  of. 

Citizens.  Most  true  ;  the  will ! — let's  stay,  and  hear  the  will. 

Antony.  Here  is  the  will,  and  under  Caesar's  seal. 
To  every  Roman  citizen  he  gives, 
To  every  several  man,  seventy-five  drachmas.  250 

Second  Citizen.  Most  noble  Caesar  !     We'll  revenge  his  death. 

Third  Citizen.  O  royal  Caesar  ! 

Antony.  Hear  me  with  patience. 

All.  Peace,  ho  ! 

""  Antony.  Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks,  255 

His  private  arbors  and  new-planted  orchards, 
On  this  side  Tiber — he  hath  left  them  you, 
And  to  your  heirs  forever,  common  pleasures, 
To  walk  abroad  and  recreate  yourselves. 
Here  was  a  Caesar !  when  comes  such  another  ?  260 

First  Citizen.  Never,  never  ! — Come,  away,  away  ! 
We'll  burn  his  body  in  the  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 
Take  up  the  body. 

Second  Citizen.  Go  fetch  fire.  265 

Third  Citizen.  Pluck  down  benches. 

Fourth  Citizen.  Pluck  down  forms,  windows,  anything. 

\_Exeunt  Citizens  with  the  body. 

Antony.  Now  let  it  work.     Mischief,  thou  art  afoot, 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt ! 


244.  lores.    The  plural  is  here  used  to  i  250.  seventy-flye  drachmas  =  thirteen  or 


indicate   that    the    feeling  was 
shared  severally  by  those  ad- 
dressed. 
246.  have  forgot.     See  note  to  line  62, 


fourteen  dollars  of  our  money. 
259.  to  walk  abroad:    that   is,  to  walk 

abroad  in. 
263.  flre.     The   word   "  fire "  is  here 


"spoke."  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 266.  Pluck  down  benches,  etc.     The  incidents  in  the 
play  of  Julius  Ccesar  are  largely  taken  from  Plutarch's  Lives.     It  is  well  known 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


II.— TRIAL   SCENE   FROM   THE   MERCHANT   OF   VENICE. 

[INTRODUCTION.— The  Trial  Scene  forms  the  second  scene,  act  iv.,  of  the 
Merchant  of  Venice,  first  published  in  1600.  It  has  always  been  one  of  the 
most  popular  of  Shakespeare's  comedies,  both  with  readers  and  audiences— a 
popularity  justified  by  the  fact  that  it  stands  in  the  first  rank  for  the  almost 
tragic  interest  of  its  main  plot,  for  the  variety  and  strongly  marked  discrimina- 
tion of  its  characters,  and  for  the  sweetness,  beauty,  and  grace  that  pervade  it.] 
Seem— A  Court  of  Justice.  Present— The  DUKE,  the  Magnificoes,  ANTONIO,  BAS- 
SANIO,  GRATIANO,  SALERIO,  and  others. 

I. 

Duke.  What,  is  Antonio  here  ? 

Antonio.  Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Duke.  I  am  sorry  for  thee  :  thou  art  come  to  answer 
A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  dram  of  mercy. 

Antonio.  I  have  heard 

Your  grace  hath  ta'en  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course ;  but  since  he  stands  obdurate 


NOTES. — 2.  so  please  =  if  it  so  please. 

5.  Uncapable,  incapable. 

5,  6.  empty  From.      Elsewhere   Shake- 


speare always  uses  of,  as  we  do 
with  void  and  empty. 
8.  qualify,  modify. 


that  Shakespeare  used  this  work,  for  one  of  the  few  existing  autographs  of  the 
great  poet  is  found  in  a  copy  of  Sir  Thomas  North's  translation  of  Plutarch. 
The  following  passage  from  North's  text  will  illustrate  what  Shakespeare  had 
"to  go  on"  in  writing  Julius  Ctzsar :  "  Afterwards,  when  Caesar's  body  was 
brought  into  the  market-place,  Antonius  making  his  funeral  oration  in  praise  of 
the  dead,  according  to  the  ancient  custom  of  Rome,  and  perceiving  that  his  words 
moved  the  common  people  to  compassion,  he  framed  his  eloquence  to  make 
their  hearts  yearn  the  more  ;  and,  taking  Caesar's  gown  all  bloody  in  his  hand, 
he  laid  it  open  to  the  sight  of  them  all,  showing  what  a  number  of  cuts  and 
holes  it  had  upon  it.  Therewithal  the  people  fell  presently  into  such  a  rage 
and  mutiny  that  there  was  no  more  order  kept  amongst  the  common  people. 
For  some  of  them  cried  out, '  Kill  the  murtherers  !'  others  plucked  up  forms, 
tables,  and  stalls  about  the  market-place,  and  having  laid  them  all  on  a  heap 
together,  they  set  them  on  fire,  and  thereupon  did  put  the  body  of  Caesar,  and 
burnt  it  in  the  midst  of  the  most  holy  places.  And,  furthermore,  when  the  fire 
was  throughly  kindled,  some  here,  some  there,  took  burning  fire-brands,  and 
ran  with  them  to  the  murtherers  houses  that  killed  him,  to  set  them  on  fire." 


i8 


SHAKESPEARE. 


And  that  no  lawful  means  can  carry  me 
Out  of  his  envy's*  reach,  I  do  oppose 
My  patience  to  his  fury,  and  am  armed 
To  suffer,  with  a  quietness  of  spirit, 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Duke.  Go  one,  and  call  the  Jew  into  court. 

Salerio.  He  is  ready  at  the  door :  he  comes,  my  lord. 

Enter  SHYLOCK. 

Duke.  Make  room,  and  let  him  stand  before  our  face. — 
Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too, 
That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then  'tis  thought 
Thou'lt  show  thy  mercy  and  remorse*  more  strange 
Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty ; 
And  where  thou  now  exact'st  the  penalty, 
Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant's  flesh, 
Thou  wilt  not  only  loose  the  forfeiture, 
But,  touched  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 
Forgive  a  moiety*  of  the  principal ; 
Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 
That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back, 
Enow  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down 
And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 
From  brassy  bosoms  and  rough  hearts  of  flint, 
From  stubborn  Turks  and  Tartars,  never  trained 
To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 
We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 

Shylock.  I  have  possessed*  your  grace  of  wrhat  I  purpose. 
And  by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I  sworn 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 


35 


ii.  his  envy's  reach:  that  is,  the  reach 

of  his  malice. 
21.  remorse,  relenting. 
23.  where  =  whereas. 
25.  loose,  release. 
30.  Enow  =  enough. 


30.  royal,  a  complimentary  term  to  in- 
dicate the  wealth  and  power  of 
Antonio. 

35.  gentle.     A  pun  on  Gentile  is  meant 

to  be  suggested. 

36.  possessed,  informed. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Upon  your  charter  and  your  city's  freedom. 

You'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have 

A  weight  of  carrion  flesh  than  to  receive 

Three  thousand  ducats.     I'll  not  answer  that ; 

But,  say  it  is  my  humor :  is  it  answered  ? 

What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat, 

And  I  be  pleased  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 

To  have  it  baned  ?  *     What,  are  you  answered  yet  ? 

Some  men  there  are  love  not  a  gaping  pig ; 

Some,  that  are  mad  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 

Some,  when  they  hear  the  bagpipe  :  for  affection, 

Mistress  of  passion,  sways  it  to  the  mood 

Of  what  it  likes  or  loathes.     Now,  for  your  answer : 

As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  rendere'd, 

Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig ; 

Why  he,  a  harmless  necessary  cat ; 

Why  he,  a  woollen  bagpipe ;  but  of  force 

Must  yield  to  such  inevitable  shame 

As  to  offend,  himself  being  offended; 

So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  I  will  not, 

More  than  a  lodged  hate  and  a  certain  loathing 

I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 

A  losing  suit  against  him.     Are  you  answered  ? 

Bassanio.  This  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 
T'  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty. 

Shy  lock.  I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my  answers. 

Bassanio.  Do  all  men  kill  the  things  they  do  not  love  ? 

Shylock.  Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill  ? 

Bassanio.  Every  offence*  is  not  a  hate  at  first. 

Shylock.  What,  wouldst  thou  have  a  serpent  sting  thee  twice  ? 


44.  But,  say  =  but  suppose  ;  humor, 
whim,  caprice. 

47.  baned,  poisoned. 

48.  a  gaping  pig:  that  is,  a  pig's  head 

served  up  on  the  table. 

50.  affection.  The  word  here  signifies 
emotions  produced  through  the 
senses  by  external  objects. 

53.  firm,  sound 


54,  55,  56.  he  ...  he  ...  he:  one,  an- 
other, another. 

59.  nor  I  will  not.  Observe  the  double 
negative,  a  common  idiom  in 
Shakespeare's  time. 

6 1.  that  I  follow  =  why  I  follow. 

64.  current,  course. 

68.  offence.  The  word  here  means  the 
state  of  being  o/ended. 


20 


SHAKESPEARE. 


Antonio.  I  pray  you,  think  you  question  with  the  Jew :  70 

You  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach 
And  bid  the  main  flood  bate  his  usual  height ; 
You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf 
Why  he  hath  made  the  ewe  bleat  for  the  lamb ; 
You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines  75 

To  wag  their  high  tops  and  to  make  no  noise, 
When  they  are  fretten  with  the  gusts  of  heaven ; 
You  may  as  well  do  anything  most  hard, 
As  seek  to  soften  that — than  which  what's  harder  ? — 
His  Jewish  heart :  therefore,  I  do  beseech  you,  80 

Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  farther  means, 
But  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency 
Let  me  have  judgment  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Bassanio.  For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  six. 

Shylock.  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats  85 

Were  in  six  parts  and  every  part  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them — I  would  have  my  bond. 

Duke.  How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rendering  none  ? 

Shylock.  What  judgment  shall  I  dread,  doing  no  wrong  ? 

The  pound  of  flesh,  which  I  demand  of  him,  90 

Is  dearly  bought ;  'tis  mine  and  I  will  have  it. 

If  you  deny  me,  fie  upon  your  law ! 

There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice. 

I  stand  for  judgment :  answer ;  shall  I  have  it  ? 

Duke.  Upon  my  power  I  may  dismiss  this  court,  95 

Unless  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor, 
Whom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this, 
Come  here  to-day. 


70.  think  you  question :  that  is,  remem- 
ber that  you  are  arguing. 

72.  main  flood,  high  tide  ;    bate,  abate. 

76.  to  make  no  noise.  As  this  phrase 
also  is  under  the  government 
of  "forbid,"  it  expresses  just 
the  opposite  of  what  is  meant, 
and  is,  therefore,  a  grammatical 
slip ;  but  Shakespeare,  like  a 


certain  Polish  monarch,  might 
claim  to  be  a  king  above  gram- 
mar (rex  super  grammaticani). 

77.  fretten,  fretted  ;  that  is,  shaken. 

83.  judgment.  The  word  is  here  used 
in  its  legal  sense  of  sentence. 

95.  Upon  my  power  =  on  my  authori- 
ty- 

97.  determine,  decide. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Salerio.  My  lord,  here  stays  without 

A  messenger  with  letters  from  the  doctor, 
New  come  from  Padua. 

Duke.  Bring  us  the  letters  ;  call  the  messenger. 


21 


Enter  NERISSA,  dressed  like  a  lawyer's  clerk. 

Duke.  Came  you  from  Padua,  from  Bellario  ? 

Nerissa.  From  both,  my  lord.     Bellario  greets  your  grace. 

{Presenting  a  letter. 

Bassanio.  Why  dost  thou  whet  thy  knife  so  earnestly  ? 

Shy  lock.  To  cut  the  forfeiture  from  that  bankrupt  there. 

Gratiano.  Not  on  thy  sole,  but  on  thy  soul,  harsh  Jew, 
Thou  mak'st  thy  knife  keen ;  but  no  metal  can, 
No,  not  the  hangman's  axe,  bear  half  the  keenness 
Of  thy  sharp  envy.     Can  no  prayers  pierce  thee  ? 

Shy  lock.  No,  none  that  thou  hast  wit*  enough  to  make. 
******** 

Duke.  This  letter  from  Bellario  doth  commend 
A  young  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court. 
Where  is  he  ? 

Nerissa.          He  attendeth  here  hard  by, 
To  know  your  answer,  whether  you'll  admit  him. 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart.     Some  three  or  four  of  you 
Go  give  him  courteous  conduct  to  this  place. 

******** 

II. 

Enter  PORTIA,  dressed  like  a  doctor  of  laws. 
Give  me  your  hand.     Come  you  from  old  Bellario  ? 

Portia.  I  did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  You  are  welcome ;  take  your  place. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court  ? 


107.  sole  .  .  .  soul.    Notice  the  play  on 

words. 
109.  hangman.     The  word  is  here  used 

in  a  generic  sense  for  execution- 


er. 


1 1 1.  wit,  sense,  sharpness. 

115.  attendeth,  waits. 

122,  123.  the  difference  That  holds,  etc. : 
the  dispute  that  is  the  subject 
of  the  present  discussion. 


22 


SHAKESPEARE. 


Portia.  I  am  informed  throughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew  ?  125 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

Portia.  Is  your  name  Shylock  ? 

Shylock.  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Portia.  Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow ; 
Yet  in  such  rule  that  the  Venetian  law  130 

Cannot  impugn*  you  as  you  do  proceed. — 
You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not  ?  [To  Antonis. 

Antonio.  Ay,  so  he  says. 

Portia.  Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 

Antonio.  I  do.  135 

Portia.  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shylock.  On  what  compulsion  must  I  ?     Tell  me  that. 

Portia.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained, 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 

Upon  the  place  beneath  ;  it  is  twice  blest —  140 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes ; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest :  it  becomes 
The  throne'd  monarch  better  than  his  crown ; 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty,  145 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings ; 
But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway ; 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself ; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's  «« 


124.  throughly  =  thoroughly. 

130.  in  such  rule,  etc.  "  So  strictly  ac- 
cording to  form  that  the  law  can 
detect  no  flaw  in  your  proced- 
ure."— WRIGHT  :  Merchant  of 
Venice. 

132.  within  his  danger:  that  is,  within 
his  power  to  harm  you. 

137.  must  I?  "Must,  as  used  by  Por- 
tia in  the  preceding  line,  refers 
only  to  what  is  becoming,  what 
might  be  expected.  Shylock 
adopts  her  words,  but  in  a  more 


absolute  sense — that  of  compul- 
sion. Portia  rebukes  him  for 
thus  connecting  compulsion  with 
mercy. 

'  The  quality  of  mercy  ia  not  strained.' 

And  this  reproof  strikes  the  key- 
note of  the  famous  speech  which 
follows."  —  DALGLEISH  :  Mer- 
chant of  Venice. 

140.  twice  blest,  doubly  blest. 

144.  shows,  symbolizes. 

150.  show,  appear. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

When  mercy  seasons  justice.     Therefore,  Jew, 
Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this, 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation  :  we  do  pray  for  mercy ; 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy.     I  have  spoke  thus  much 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea, 
Which  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant  there. 

Shylock.  My  deeds  upon  my  head  !     I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Portia.  Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money? 

Bassanio.  Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court ; 
Yea,  twice  the  sum.     If  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart. 
If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear 
That  malice  bears  down  truth.     And  I  beseech  you, 
Wrest*  once  the  law  to  your  authority : 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong, 
A.nd  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Portia.  It  must  not  be.     There  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established  : 
'Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent, 
And  many  an  error  by  the  same  example 
Will  rush  into  the  state.     It  cannot  be. 

Shylock.  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment !  yea,  a  Daniel ! 
O  wise  young  judge,  how  I  do  honor  thee ! 

Portia.  I  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

Shylock.  Here  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is. 

Portia.  Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee. 

Shylock.  An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven. 


23 


155 


1 60 


.65 


170 


180 


155.  that  same  prayer:  that  is,  the  pe- 

tition "forgive  us  our  debts," 
etc. 

156.  spoke,  spoken, 

158.  which  if  thou  follow:  that  is,  if  you 
persist  in  adhering  to  the  law 


is  the 


of  your  plea.     "  Which 
object  of  follow. 

162.  discharge  the  money:    that  is,  the 
money  due,  the  debt. 

1 68.  truth,  honor,  honesty. 

169.  Wrest,  turn  aside. 


SHAKESPEARE. 


Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul  ? 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Portia.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit :  183 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart— Be  merciful  ; 
Take  thrice  thy  money ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shylock.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor.  iao 

It  doth  appear  you  are  a  worthy  judge ; 
You  know  the  law,  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound :  I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar, 

Proceed  to  judgment.     By  my  soul  I  swear  195 

There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me  :  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Antonio.  Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 

Portia.  WThy,  then,  thus  it  is  :  200 

You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

Shylock.  O  noble  judge  !     O  excellent  young  man ! 

Portia.  For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond.  205 

Shylock.  'Tis  very  true  :  O  wise  and  upright  judge ! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks ! 

Portia.  Therefore  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shylock.  Ay,  his  breast  : 

So  says  the  bond — doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? —  210 

"  Nearest  his  heart :"  those  are  the  very  words. 

Portia.  It  is  so.     Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh 
The  flesh  ? 

Shylock.  I  have  them  ready. 

Portia.  Have  by  some  surgeon,*  Shylock,  on  your  charge,         215 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 


204.  Hath  full  relation :   that  is,  is  fully 

applicable. 
207.  more  elder.     See  note,  page  14, 

line  190. 
212.  Are  there  balance.     "Balance  "is 


here  treated  as  a  plural,  per- 
haps because  a  balance  consists 
of  a  pair  of  scales. 

215.  on  your  charge,  at  your  expense. 

216.  do  bleed:  subjunctive  mood. 


25 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Shy  lock.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 

Portia.  It  is  not  so  expressed ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shylock.  I  cannot  find  it ;  'tis  not  in  the  bond.  «o 

Portia.  You,  merchant,  have  you  anything  to  say  ? 

Antonio.  But  little  :  I  am  armed  and  well  prepared. — 
Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio.     Fare  you  well ! 
Grieve  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you ; 

For  herein  Fortune  shows  herself  more  kind  225 

Than  is  her  custom :  it  is  still  her  use 
To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 
To  view  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow 
An  age  of  poverty ;  from  which  lingering  penance 
Of  such  misery  doth  she  cut  me  off.  2JO 

Commend  me  to  your  honorable  wife  ; 
Tell  her  the  process  of  Antonio's  end ; 
Say  how  I  loved  you,  speak  me  fair  in  death ; 
And,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge 

Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love.  235 

Repent  but  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend, 
And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt ; 
For  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough, 
I'll  pay  it  presently  with  all  my  heart. 

Bassanio.  Antonio,  I  am  married  to  a  wife  «4o 

Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself ; 
But  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world, 
Are  not  with  me  esteemed  above  thy  life : 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all 
Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you.  345 

Portia.  Your  wife  would  give  you  little  thanks  for  that, 
If  she  were  by,  to  hear  you  make  the  offer. 

Gratiano.  I  have  a  wife,  whom,  I  protest,  I  love  : 


226.  it  is  still  her  use,  it  is  ever  her 

custom. 

230.  misery.  Accent  thus  :  miser 'y. 
233.  speak  me  fair,  speak  well  of  me. 
235.  love,  lover,  dear  friend ;  that  is, 

Antonio  himself. 


236.  Repent  but  you :  that  is,  if,  only, 
you  regret,  etc. 

239.  presently,  immediately. 

241.  Which:  for  who.  In  Shakespeare's 
time,  which  was  applicable  to 
persons  as  well  as  to  things. 


26  SHAKESPEARE. 

I  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 

Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew.  250 

Nerissa.  Tis  well  you  offer  it  behind  her  back  ; 
The  wish  would  make  else  an  unquiet  house. 

Shylock.  [Aside]  These  be  the  Christian  husbands.     I  have  a 

daughter ; 

Would  any  of  the  stock  of  Barrabas  255 

Had  been  her  husband  rather  than  a  Christian ! — 
\Aloud^\  We  trifle  time  :  I  pray  thee,  pursue  sentence  ! 

Portia.  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine. 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 

Shylock.  Most  rightful  judge  !  260 

Portia.  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast. 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shylock.  Most  learned  judge  !     A  sentence  !     Come,  prepare  ! 

Portia.  Tarry  a  little ;  there  is  something  else. 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood ;  265 

The  words  expressly  are  "  a  pound  of  flesh  :" 
Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate  27o 

Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Gratiano.  O  upright  judge ! — Mark,  Jew  : — O  learned  judge  ! 

Shylock.  Is  that  the  law  ? 

Portia.  Thyself  shalt  see  the  act : 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assured  27«; 

Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desirest. 

Gratiano.  O  learned  judge ! — Mark,  Jew  : — a  learned  judge  ! 

Shylock.  I  take  this  offer,  then :  pay  the  bond  thrice 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bassanio.  Here  is  the  money.  280 

Portia.  Soft! 

The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  ;  soft ! — no  haste  : — 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Gratiano.  O  Jew  !  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge  ! 

Portia.  Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the  flesh.  28$ 


270.  confiscate,  confiscated. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  27 

Shed  thou  no  blood,  nor  cut  thou  less  nor  more 

But  just  a  pound  of  flesh.     If  thou  cutt'st  more 

Or  less  than  a  just  pound,  be  it  but  so  much 

As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance, 

Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part  290 

Of  one  poor  scruple — nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 

But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair — 

Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gratiano.  A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jew ! 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  you  on  the  hip.  29S 

Portia.  Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ? — Take  thy  forfeiture. 

Shylock.  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bassanio.  I  have  it  ready  for  thee  ;  here  it  is. 

Portia.  He  hath  refused  it  in  the  open  court : 
He  shall  have  merely  justice  and  his  bond.  300 

Gratiano.  A  Daniel,  still  say  I,  a  second  Daniel ! 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shylock.   Shall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal  ? 

Portia.  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew.  305 

Shylock.  Why,  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it ! 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

Portia.  Tarry,  Jew. 

The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 

It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice,  310 

If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien 
That  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen, 
The  party  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive 
Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods  ;  the  other  half  3«s 

Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state ; 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  stand'st ; 


288.  a  just  pound,  an  exact  pound. 

289.  in    the    substance,    in    the    gross 

weight. 
295.  on  the  hip.     This  expression  is 


taken  from  the  language  of 
wrestling ;  it  indicates  the  mas- 
tery which  one  of  the  wrestler0 
has  over  the  other. 


28 


SHAKESPEARE. 


For  it  appears,  by  manifest  proceeding, 
That  indirectly  and  directly  too 
Thou  hast  contrived  against  the  very  life 
Of  the  defendant ;  and  thou  hast  incurred 
The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehearsed. 
Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 

Gratiano.  Beg  that  thou  mayst  have  leave  to  hang  thyself. 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state, 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord ; 
Therefore  thou  must  be  hanged  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke.  That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our  spirits, 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it. 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio's  ; 
The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state, 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  unto  a  fine. 

Portia.  Ay,  for  the  state,  not  for  Antonio. 

Shylock.  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all ;  pardon  not  that : 
You  take  my  house  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house  ;  you  take  my  life 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live. 

Portia.  What  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio  ? 

Gratiano.  A  halter  gratis  ;*  nothing  else,  for  God's  sake. 

Antonio.  So  please  my  lord  the  duke  and  all  the  court 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  goods, 
I  am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  have 
The  other  half  in  use,  to  render  it, 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter  : 
Two  things  provided  more,  that,  for  this  favor, 
He  presently  become  a  Christian ; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift, 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possessed, 
Unto  his  son  Lorenzo  and  his  daughter. 


320 


325 


330 


335 


340 


345 


350 


334-  humbleness  may  drive  :  that  is, 
humility  may  change  or  com- 
mute. 

336.  pardon  not  that  =  spare  not  that. 


344.  so,  provided. 

351.  of  all  he  dies  possessed:  that  is,  of 
all  that  of  which  he  dies  pos- 
sessed. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Duke.  He  shall  do  this,  or  else  I  do  recant* 
The  pardon  that  I  late  pronounced  here. 

Portia.  Art  thou  contented,  Jew?  what  dost  thou  say?  -55 

Shylock.  I  am  content. 

Portia.  Clerk,  draw  a  deed  of  gift. 

Shylock.  I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence  ; 
I  am  not  well.     Send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  I  will  sign  it.  36o 

Duke.  Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 

Gratiano.  In  christening  shalt  thou  have  two  godfathers. 
Had  I  been  judge,  thou  shouldst  have  had  ten  more, 
To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  the  font.  [Exit  Shylock. 

Duke.  Sir,  I  entreat  you  home  with  me  to  dinner.  365 

Portia.  I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon  : 
I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 
And  it  is  meet  I  presently  set  forth. 

Duke.  I  am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman,  370 

For,  in  my  mind,  you  are  much  bound  to  him. 

[Exeunt  Duke  and  his  train. 

Bassanio.  Most  worthy  gentleman,  I  and  my  friend 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  penalties  ;  in  lieu  whereof, 

Three  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew,  375 

We  freely  cope*  your  courteous  pains  withal. 

Antonio.  And  stand  indebted,  over  and  above, 
In  love  and  service  to  you  evermore. 

Portia.  He  is  well  paid*  that  is  well  satisfied ; 

And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied,  380 

And  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid : 
My  mind  was  never  yet  more  mercenary.* 
I  pray  you,  know  me  when  we  meet  again  : 
I  wish  you  well,  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 


353.  recant,  revoke. 

356.  late  =  lately. 

363.  ten  more:  making  up  the  twelve 

jurymen     who     should     hang 

him. 


366.  your  grace  of  pardon  =  pardon    of 

your  grace. 

376.  cope,  requite  ;  withal  =  with. 
382.  more  mercenary,  anxious   for    any 

more  reward. 


II. 

FRANCIS    BACON, 

1561-1626. 


THREE  CRITICS  ON  BACON'S  ESSAYS. 

I. 

It  is  by  the  Essays  that  Bacon  is  best  known  to  the  multitude. 
The  Novum  Organum  and  the  De  Augmentis  are  much  talked  of, 
but  little  read.  They  have  produced  indeed  a  vast  effect  on  the 


THREE  CRITICS  ON  BACON'S  ESSAYS.  ^ 

opinion  of  mankind ;  but  they  have  produced  it  through  the  op- 
eration of  intermediate  agents.  They  have  moved  the  intellects 
which  have  moved  the  world.  It  is  in  the  Essays  alone  that  the 
mind  of  Bacon  is  brought  into  immediate  contact  with  the  minds 
of  ordinary  readers.  There,  he  opens  an  exoteric  school,  and  he 
talks  to  plain  men,  in  language  which  everybody  understands, 
about  things  in  which  everybody  is  interested.  He  has  thus  en- 
abled those  who  must  otherwise  have  taken  his  merits  on  trust 
to  judge  for  themselves ;  and  the  great  body  of  readers  have, 
during  several  generations,  acknowledged  that  the  man  who  has 
treated  with  such  consummate  ability  questions  with  which  they 
are  familiar  may  well  be  supposed  to  deserve  all  the  praise  be- 
stowed on  him  by  those  who  have  sat  in  his  inner  school.  —  MA- 
CAULAY. 

II. 

Bacon's  sentences  bend  beneath  the  weight  of  his  thought  like 
a  branch  beneath  the  weight  of  its  fruit.  He  seems  to  have  writ- 
ten his  Essays  with  Shakespeare's  pen.  He  writes  like  one  on 
whom  presses  the  weight  of  affairs,  and  he  approaches  a  subject 
always  on  its  serious  side.  He  does  not  play  with  it  fantas- 
tically. He  lives  among  great  ideas  as  with  great  nobles,  with 
whom  he  dare  not  to  be  too  familiar.  In  the  tone  of  his  mind 
there  is  ever  something  imperial.  When  he  writes  on  buildings, 
he  speaks  of  a  palace,  with  spacious  entrances,  and  courts,  and 
banqueting-halls  ;  when  he  writes  on  gardens,  he  speaks  of  alleys 
and  mounts,  waste  places  and  fountains — of  a  garden  "  which  is 
indeed  prince-like."  To  read  over  his  table  of  contents  is  like 
reading  over  a  roll  of  peers'  names.  We  have  taken  them  as 
they  stand  :  "  Of  Great  Place,"  "  Of  Boldness,"  "  Of  Goodness, 
and  Goodness  of  Nature,"  "Of  Nobility,"  "Of  Seditions  and 
Troubles,"  "Of  Atheism,"  "Of  Superstition,"  "Of  Travel,"  "Of 
Empire,"  "  Of  Counsel  " — a  book,  plainly,  to  lie  in  the  closets  of 
statesmen  and  princes,  and  designed  to  nurture  the  noblest  nat- 
ures. —  ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

III. 

I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to  admire  Bacon,  whose  remarks 
are  taken  in  and  assented  to  by  persons  of  ordinary  capacity, 


32  BACON. 

and  seem  nothing  very  profound.  But  when  a  man  comes  to  re- 
fleet  and  observe,  and  his  faculties  enlarge,  he  then  sees  more  in 
them  than  he  did  at  first,  and  more  still  as  he  advances  farther — 
his  admiration  of  Bacon's  profundity  increasing  as  he  himself 
grows  intellectually.  Bacon's  wisdom  is  like  the  seven-league 
boots,  which  would  fit  the  giant  or  the  dwarf,  except  only  that 
the  dwarf  cannot  take  the  same  stride  in  them.  —  ARCHBISHOP 
WHATELY. 


BACON'S   ESSAYS. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  first  edition  of  the  Essays  was  published  in  1597,  at 
the  very  time  when  Shakespeare  was  doing  his  greatest  work.  They  were  only 
ten  in  number,  but  Bacon  subsequently  added  to  these,  making  in  all  fifty-eight 
essays  in  the  edition  published  in  1625,  the  year  before  his  death.  In  the 
dedication  of  this  edition,  Bacon  says:  "I  do  now  publish  my  Essays,  which, 
of  all  my  other  works,  have  been  most  current — for,  as  it  seems,  they  come  home 
to  men's  business  and  bosoms.'1'1 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  word  essay  has  considerably  changed  its  appli- 
cation since  the  days  of  Bacon.  The  word  then  bore  its  original  sense  of  a 
slight  suggestive  sketch  (French  essayer,  to  try,  or  attempt),  whereas  it  is  now 
commonly  employed  to  denote  an  elaborate  and  finished  composition.] 

I.— OF  STUDIES. 

i.  Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability. 
Their  chief  use  for  delight  is  in  privateness *  and  retiring;*  for 
ornament,  is  in  discourse  ;  and  for  ability,  is  in  the  judgment  and 
disposition  of  business.  For  expert  *  men  can  execute,  and  per- 


NOTES. — Line  I.  delight,  pleasure,  pas- 
time ;  ornament,  the  adornment 
of  conversation  ;  ability,  execu- 
tive skill. 


2.  privateness,  privacy  ;  retiring,  retire- 
ment. 

4.  expert  men :  that  is,  men  of  mere 
experience. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — The  following  words  in  this  Essay  are  used  by  Ba- 
con in  a  sense  different  from  their  modern  meaning :  explam  this  difference — 
"humor"  (10)  ;  "crafty"  (15);  "simple"  (15);  "admire"  (15);  "curious- 
ly "(23);  "witty "(34). 

What  are  the  modern  forms  of  the  words  "privateness"  (2)  and  "retiring" 
(2)? 

The  following  words  are  obsolete — define  them  :  "  proyning  "  (12) ;  "  stond  " 

(37). 

i.  Studies  serre,  etc.    What  three  adverbial  phrases  are  adjuncts  to  "  serve  ?" 
2-7.  Their  chief  use  ...  learned.     Supply  the  ellipses  in  this  sentence. 


BACON'S  ESSAYS, 


33 


haps  judge  of  particulars,  one  by  one  ;  but  the  general  counsels, 
and  the  plots  and  marshalling  of  affairs,  come  best  from  those 
that  are  learned. 

2.  To  spend  too  much  time  in  studies  is  sloth,  to  use  them 
too  much  for  ornament  is  affectation,  to  make  judgment  wholly 
by  their  rules  is  the  humor*  of  a  scholar.     They  perfect  nature,  10 
and  are  perfected  by  experience — for  natural  abilities  are  like 
natural  plants,  that  need  proyning  *  by  study ;  and  studies  them- 
selves do  give  forth  directions  too  much  at  large,  except  they  be 
bounded  in  by  experience. 

3.  Crafty*  men  contemn  studies,  simple*  men  admire*  them,  ij 
and  wise  men  use  them ;  for  they  teach  not  their  own  use — but 
that  is  a  wisdom  without  them,  and  above  them,  won  by  observa- 
tion.    Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and 
take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse ;  but  to  weigh 
and  consider.  ™ 

4.  Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and 
some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested :  that  is,  some  books  are  to 


9.  to  make  judgment  —  to  give  judg- 
ment. 

10.  humor,  disposition,  habit,  whim. 
12.  proyning,  pruning. 
15.  crafty  men.      "Crafty  men"  here 


signifies  merely  practical  men  ; 
simple,  unlearned  ;  admire, 
vaguely  wonder  at. 

17.  without  them:    that  is,  outside  of 
them,  beyond  them. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Note  the  expression,  "the  general  counsels,  and  the 
plots  and  marshalling  of  affairs" — an  expression  having  that  over-arching 
quality  which  we  think  of  as  specifically  Shakespearian. 

8-10.  To  spend  .  . .  scholar.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically?  How 
many  members  (independent  propositions)?  What  grammatical  element 
(word,  phrase,  or  clause)  is  the  subject  of  each  ? 

13.  except.     What  conjunction  should  we  now  use? 

15-36.  Crafty  men  ...  contend.  Macaulay,  in  his  essay  on  Lord  Bacon,  quotes 
this  passage,  and  adds  :  "  It  will  hardly  be  disputed  that  this  is  a  passage  to 
be  '  chewed  and  digested.'  We  do  not  believe  that  Thucydides  himself  has 
anywhere  compressed  so  much  thought  into  so  small  a  space." 

18-20.  Read  not ...  consider.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  this  sentence  ? 
(See  Def.  18.)  With  what  is  "  (read)  to  weigh  and  consider  "  contrasted  ? 

21,  22.  tasted  .  . .  swallowed  . .  .  chewed  .  .  .  digested.  Are  these  expressions 
literal  or  metaphorical  ?  Explain,  from  the  latter  part  of  the  sentence,  what 
is  meant  by  "  tasted  ;"  by  "  swallowed  ;"  by  "  chewed  and  digested." 

3 


34 


BACON. 


be  read  only  in  parts  ;  others  to  be  read,  but  not  curiously,*  and 
some  few  to  be  read  wholly,  and  with  diligence  and  attention. 
Some  books  also  may  be  read  by  deputy,  and  extracts  made  of  25 
them  by  others ;  but  that  would  be  only  in  the  less  important  ar- 
guments, and  the  meaner  sort  of  books ;  else  distilled  books  are, 
like  common  distilled  waters,  flashy  things. 

5.  Reading  maketh  a  full  man,  conference  a  ready  man,  and 
writing  an  exact  man.     And  therefore,  if  a  man  write  little,  he  3« 
had  need  have  a  great  memory ;  if  he  confer  little,  he  had  need 
have  a  present  wit ;  and  if  he  read  little,  he  had  need  have  much 
cunning  to  seem  to  know  that  he  doth  not. 

6.  Histories  make  men  wise  ;  poets,  witty  ;   the  mathematics, 
subtle;  natural  philosophy,  deep ;  moral,  grave ;  logic  and  rhet-ss 
oric,  able  to  contend.     Abeimt  studia  in  mores  [manners  are  in- 
fluenced by  studies].     Nay,  there  is  no  stond*  or  impediment* 
in  the  wit  but  may  be  wrought  out  by  fit  studies,  like  as  dis- 
eases of  the  body  may  have  appropriate  exercises.     Bowling  is 
good  for  the  reins ;  shooting,  for  the  lungs  and  breast ;  gentle  40 
walking,  for  the  stomach;  riding,  for  the  head;  and  the  like. 


23.  curiously,  with  scrupulous  care. 
(In  place  of  the  expression  "not 
curiously,"  an  early  edition  of 
the  Essay  has  the  word  cursori- 
fy.) 

26.  would  =  should. 

28.  flashy,  vapid,  insipid. 

29.  conference,  conversation. 


32.  present,  ready. 

33.  that  =  what. 

34.  witty,  bright,  quick-witted. 

35.  moral :  that  is,  moral  philosophy. 

37.  stond,  hindrance. 

38.  wrought  out  —  worked  out,  got  rid 

of. 
40.  reins,  kidneys,  inward  parts. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 29-33.  Reading  maketh  .  . .  not.  What  is  the  figure 
of  speech  here  ?  (See  Def.  18.)  This  is  a  fine  example  of  antithesis  in  the 
form  sometimes  called  parison,  or  isocolon,  in  which  arrangement  the  parts  of 
the  sentence  follow  in  a  series  of  corresponding  elements.  Thus,  in  this  sen- 
tence, the  first  three  propositions  (members)  are  alike,  word  corresponding 
with  word,  and  then  follow  three  more  members  (complex  propositions)  in 
which  clause  (dependent  proposition)  corresponds  with  clause,  and  principal 
proposition  with  principal  proposition.  Point  out  the  corresponding  and  the 
contrasting  parts. 

34-36.  Histories  . .  .  contend.  This  sentence  presents  an  example  of  the  same 
figure  as  in  the  previous  sentence.  Point  out  the  corresponding  parts. 

38.  like  as  diseases,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  this  sentence  ? 
(See  Def.  19.)  Should  we  now  use  "  like?" 


BACON'S  ESSAYS. 


35 


So,  if  a  man's  wit  be  wandering,  let  him  study  the  mathematics  : 
for  in  demonstrations,  if  his  wit  be  called  away  never  so  little, 
he  must  begin  again.  If  his  wit  be  not  apt  to  distinguish  or 
find  differences,  let  him  study  the  schoolmen,  for  they  are  cy-  ^ 
mini  sector es  [hair-splitters1].  If  he  be  not  apt  to  beat  over  mat- 
ters, and  to  call  up  one  thing  to  prove  and  illustrate  another,  let 
him  study  the  lawyers'  cases.  So  every  defect  of  the  mind  may 
have  a  special  receipt. 


II.— OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

i.  It  had  been  hard  for  him  that  spake  it  to  have  put  more 
truth  and  untruth  together  in  few  words  than  in  that  speech, 
"Whosoever  is  delighted  in  solitude  is  either  a  wild  beast  or  a 
god."  For  it  is  most  true  that  a  natural  and  secret  hatred  and 
aversation  towards  society  in  any  man  hath  somewhat  of  the  sav-  5 
age  beast ;  but  it  is  most  untrue  that  it  should  have  any  char- 
acter at  all  of  the  divine  nature,  except  it  proceed,  not  out  of  a 
pleasure  in  solitude,  but  out  of  a  love  and  desire  to  sequester  a 
man's  self  for  a  higher  conversation,  such  as  is  found  to  have 
been  falsely  and  feignedly  in  some  of  the  heathen — as  Epimeni-™ 


45-  differences,  distinctions. 

45.  the  schoolmen.    The  name  "  school- 

men "  is  applied  to  the  philoso- 
phers and  divines  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  who  spent  much  time  on 
nice  points  of  abstract  specula- 
tion. 

46.  apt  to  beat  over  matters:    that   is, 

skilled  in  considering  matters 
from  various  points  of  view. 


I.  him  that  spake  it.  Aristotle,  the 
Greek  philosopher,  is  the  au- 
thor of  this  sentiment. 

5-  ayersation  towards  =  aversion  to. 


7.  except,  unless. 

8, 9.  to  sequester  .  .  .  conversation :  that 
is,  to  seclude  himself  for  the 
sake  of  following  a  higher  course 
of  life.  The  word  "  conversa- 
tion" formerly  signified  habit 
of  life,  and  in  this  meaning  it  is 
often  employed  in  the  Bible  : 
thus  in  Psa.  xxxvii.  14 ;  Phil.  i. 
27  ;  I  Peter  iii.  I,  16. 
10.  Epimen'ides,  a  poet  and  prophet  of 
Candia  or  Crete.  After  his 
death  he  was  revered  as  a  god 
by  the  Athenians  on  account  of 
the  many  useful  counsels  he  had 
given. 


1  Cymini  sectores  is  literally  splitters  of  cummin,  one  of  the  smallest  of 
seeds. 


3  6  BACON. 

des  the  Candian,  Numa  the  Roman,  Empedocles  the  Sicilian,  and 
Apollonius  of  Tyana, — and  truly  and  really  in  divers  of  the  an- 
cient hermits  and  holy  fathers  of  the  Church. 

2.  But  little  do  men  perceive  what  solitude  is,  and  how  far  it 
extendeth ;  for  a  crowd  is  not  company,  and  faces   are  but  a  15 
gallery  of  pictures,  and  talk  but  a  tinkling  cymbal,  where  there 
is  no  love.    The  Latin  adage  meeteth  with  it  a  little,  Mag?ia  civi- 
tas,  magna  solitudo  [a  great  city  is  a  great  solitude], — because  in  a 
great  town  friends  are  scattered,  so  that  there  is  not  that  fellow- 
ship, for  the  most  part,  which  is  in  less  neighborhoods.     But  we  20 
may  go  further,  and  affirm  most  truly  that  it  is  a  mere  *  and  mis- 
erable solitude  to  want  true  friends,  without  which  the  world  is 
but  a  wilderness ;  and  even  in  this  sense  also  of  solitude,  who- 
soever in  the  frame  of  his  nature   and  affections  is  unfit  for 
friendship,  he  taketh  it  of  the  beast,  and  not  from  humanity.         2S 

3.  A  principal  fruit  of  friendship  is  the  ease  and  discharge  of 
the  fulness  and  swellings  of  the   heart,  which  passions  of  all 
kinds  do  cause  and  induce.    We  know  diseases  of  stoppings  and 
suffocations  are  the  most  dangerous  in  the  body ;  and  it  is  not 
much  otherwise  in  the  mind.     You  may  take  sarza  to  open  the  30 
liver,  steel  to  open  the  spleen,  flowers  of  sulphur  for  the  lungs, 
castoreum  for  the  brain  ;  but  no  receipt  openeth  the  heart  but  a 
true  friend,  to  whom  you  may  impart  griefs,  joys,  fears,  hopes, 
suspicions,  counsels,  and  whatsoever  lieth  upon  the  heart  to  op- 
press it,  in  a  kind  of  civil  shrift  or  confession.  3s 

4.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to  observe  how  high  a  rate  great  kings 
and  monarchs  do  set  upon  this  fruit  of  friendship  whereof  we 
speak — so  great  as  they  purchase  it  many  times  at  the  hazard  of 


II.  Nu'ma,  second  king  of  Rome  (B.C. 
715-672).  He  encouraged  the 
belief  that  he  received  help  in  his 
administration  from  the  nymph 
Egeria. — Emped'ocles,  a  Sicilian 
philosopher,  historian,  and  poet. 
It  is  recorded  that  he  wished 
it  to  be  believed  that  he  was 
a  god;  and,  that  his  death 
might  be  unknown,  he  threw 
himself  into  the  crater  of 
Mount  y£tna. 


12.  Apollo'nius,  a  Pythagorean  philoso- 
pher who  flourished  during  the 
reigns  of  Vespasian  and  Domi- 
tian. 

1 7.  meeteth  with  it :  that  is,  corresponds 
with  it. 

21.  mere,  absolute. 

25.  humanity,  human  nature. 

30.  sarza,  sarsaparilla. 

32.  castoreum,  a  substance  found  in  the 
body  of  the  beaver  (castor). 

38.  so  great  as  =  so  great  that. 


BACON'S  ESSAYS. 


37 


their  own  safety  and  greatness.  For  princes,  in  regard  of  the 
distance  of  their  fortune  from  that  of  their  subjects  and  ser-4« 
vants,  cannot  gather  this  fruit  except  (to  make  themselves  capa- 
ble thereof)  they  raise  some  persons  to  be,  as  it  were,  compan- 
ions and  almost  equals  to  themselves,  which  many  times  sorteth  * 
to  inconvenience.  The  modern  languages  give  unto  such  per- 
sons the  name  of  favorites,  or  privadoes,  as  if  it  were  matter  of  45 
grace  or  conversation ;  but  the  Roman  name  attaineth  the  true 
use  and  cause  thereof,  naming  them  participes  curanim  [sharers 
in  cares],  for  it  is  that  which  tieth  the  knot.  And  we  see  plainly 
that  this  hath  been  done,  not  by  weak  and  passionate  princes 
only,  but  by  the  wisest  and  most  politic  that  ever  reigned ;  who  s° 
have  oftentimes  joined  to  themselves  some  of  their  servants, 
whom  both  themselves  have  called  friends,  and  allowed  others 
likewise  to  call  them  in  the  same  manner,  using  the  word  which 
is  received  between  private  men. 

5.  L.  Sylla,  when  he  commanded  Rome,  raised  Pompey  (after  ss 
surnamed  the  Great)  to  that  height  that  Pompey  vaunted  him- 
self for  Sylla's  overmatch.*    For  when  he  had  carried  the  consul- 
ship for  a  friend  of  his,  against  the  pursuit  of  Sylla,  and  that 
Sylla  did  a  little  resent  thereat  and  began  to  speak  great,  Pom- 
pey turned  upon  him  again,  and  in  effect  bade  him  be  quiet,  6« 
"  for  that  more  men  adored  the  sun  rising  than  the  sun  setting." 
With  Julius  Caesar,  Decimus  Brutus  had  obtained  that  interest 
as  he  set  him  down  in  his  testament  for  heir  in  remainder  after 
his  nephew.     And  this  was  the  man  that  had  power -with  him  to 
draw  him  forth  to  his  death  •  for  when  Caesar  would  have  dis-  6$ 
charged  the  Senate,  in  regard  of  some  ill  presages,  and  specially 
a  dream  of  Calpurnia,  this  man  lifted  him  gently  by  the  arm  out 
of  his  chair,  telling  him  he  hoped  he  would  not  dismiss  the  Sen- 
ate till  his  wife  had  dreamt  a  better  dream.     And  it  seemeth  his 


43,  44.  sorteth  to  Inconvenience :  that  is, 
leads  to  inconvenience. 

45.  privadoes  (Spanish),  secret  friends. 

49.  passionate,  swayed  by  the  feelings, 
sentimental. 

55.  Sylla  (more  correctly  Sulla)  was 
appointed  Roman  dictator  B.C. 


81.  (See  Plutarch's  Lives,  under 
"  Pompey.") 

58.  pursuit,  candidacy. 

63.  as  =  that. 

67.  Calpurnia,  the  last  wife  of  Julius 
Csesar.  (See  Shakespeare's  Ju- 
lius Cfzsar,  act  ii.  scene  I.) 


3  8  BACON. 

favor  was  so  great  as  Antonius,  in  a  letter  which  is  recited  ver-  74 
batim  in  one  of  Cicero's  Philippics,  calleth  him  venefica,  witch, — 
as  if  he  had  enchanted  Caesar.    Augustus  raised  Agrippa  (though 
of  mean  birth)  to  that  height  as,  when  he  consulted  with  Maece- 
nas about  the  marriage  of  his  daughter  Julia,  Maecenas  took  the 
liberty  to  tell  him  that  he  must  either  marry  his  daughter  to  75 
Agrippa  or  take  away  his  life ;  there  was  no  third  way,  he  had 
made  him  so  great.     With  Tiberius  Caesar,  Sejanus  had  ascend- 
ed to  that  height  as  they  two  were  termed  and  reckoned  as  a 
pair  of  friends.     Tiberius,  in  a  letter  to  him,  saith,  "Hcec  pro 
amicitia  nostra  non  occultavi"  [these  things,  on  account  of  ourso 
friendship,  I  have  not  concealed]  ;  and  the  whole  Senate  dedi- 
cated an  altar  to  friendship,  as  to  a  goddess,  in  respect  of  the 
great  dearness  of  friendship  between  them  two.     The  like,  or 
more,  was  between  Septimus  Severus  and  Plautianus ;  for  he 
forced  his  eldest  son  to  marry  the  daughter  of  Plautianus,  and  85 
would  often  maintain  Plautianus  in  doing  affronts  to  his  son ; 
and  did  write  also,  in  a  letter  to  the  Senate,  by  these  words  :  "  I 
love  the  man  so  well  as  I  wish  he  may  over-live  me."     Now,  if 
these  princes  had  been  as  a  Trajan  or  a  Marcus  Aurelius,  a  man 
might  have  thought  that  this  had  proceeded   of  an   abundant  9« 
goodness  of  nature  ;  but  being  men  so  wise,  of  such  strength  and 
severity  of  mind,  and  so  extreme  lovers  of  themselves,  as  all 
these  were,  it  proveth  most  plainly  that  they  found  their  own  fe- 
licity, though  as  great  as  ever  happened  to  mortal  men,  but  as 
an  half  piece,  except  they  mought*  have  a  friend  to  make  it  en-  95 
tire ;  and  yet,  which  is  more,  they  were  princes  that  had  wives, 
sons,  nephews,  and  yet  all  these  could  not  supply  the  comfort  of 
friendship. 


70.  as.     See  note  to  line  63. 

72.  Agrip'pa,  a  celebrated  Roman  gen- 
eral. 

77.  Seja'nus,  a  Tuscan  who  rose  to  the 
highest  favor  with  the  Emperor 


yet  Severus  ultimately  put 
Plautianus  to  death  on  suspi- 
cion of  treason.  (See  Gibbon  : 
Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  chap,  v.) 


Tiberius,  but  who,  having  be-  j  89.  Trajan   (A.D.  98-117)   and   Marcus 


trayed  the  trust  reposed  in  him, 
was  put  to  death,  A.D.  31. 
83.  dearness,  fondness. 


88.  orer-live  me  =  outlive  me.      And    95.  mought  —  might,  should 


Aurelius  (A.D.  161-181),  Roman 
emperors,  remarkable  for  their 
benevolence  and  purity  of  life. 


BACON'S  ESSAYS. 


39 


6.  It  is  not  to  be  forgotten  what  Comineus  observeth  of  his 
first  master,  Duke  Charles  the  Hardy  — namely,  that  he  would  100 
communicate  his  secrets  with  none,  and  least  of  all  those  se- 
crets which  troubled  him  most.  Whereupon  he  goeth  on,  and 
saith  that  towards  his  latter  time  that  closeness  did  impair  and  a 
little  perish  his  understanding.  Surely,  Comineus  mought  have 
made  the  same  judgment  also,  if  it  had  pleased  him,  of  his  sec-  105 
ond  master,  Lewis  the  Eleventh,  whose  closeness  was  indeed  his 
tormentor.  The  parable  of  Pythagoras  is  dark,  but  true,  "  Cor 
ne  edito  " — eat  not  the  heart.  Certainly,  if  a  man  would  give  it  a 
hard  phrase,  those  that  want  friends  to  open  themselves  unto 
are  cannibals  of  their  own  hearts.  But  one  thing  is  most  admi-  no 
rable  (wherewith  I  will  conclude  this  first  fruit  of  friendship), 
which  is,  that  this  communicating  of  a  man's  self  to  his  friend 
works  two  contrary  effects,  for  it  redoubleth  joys,  and  cutteth 
griefs  in  halves.  For  there  is  no  man  that  imparteth  his  joys  to 
his  friend  but  he  joyeth  the  more,  and  no  man  that  imparteth  his  115 
griefs  to  his  friend  but  he  grieveth  the  less.  So  that  it  is,  in 
truth,  of  operation  upon  a  man's  mind  of  like  virtue  as  the  alche- 
mists use  to  attribute  to  their  stone  for  man's  body,  that  it  work- 
eth  all  contrary  effects,  but  still  to  the  good  and  benefit  of  nat- 
ure. But  yet  without  praying  in  aid  of  alchemists,  there  is  a  iac 
manifest  image  of  this  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature ;  for,  in 
bodies,  union  strengtheneth  and  cherisheth  any  natural  action, 
and,  on  the  other  side,  weaken eth  and  dulleth  any  violent  im- 
pression. And  even  so  is  it  of  minds. 


99.  Comineus  (that  is,  Philip  de  Co- 
mines),  a  French  statesman  and 
writer  (A.D.  1445-1509).  His 
first  master  was  Charles  the 
Bold,  Duke  of  Burgundy. 

100.  Charles    the   Hardy    (Charles    the 

Bold),  the  rival  of  Louis  XL 
(There  is  a  fine  life  of  Charles 
by  Kirke,  the  American  histo- 
rian ;  and  Scott,  in  the  novel  of 
Quentin  Durward,  gives  mas- 
terly portraits  both  of  Charles 
and  of  Louis  XI.) 

10 1.  with  none  =  to  none. 


104.  perish,  enfeeble,  cause  to  decay. 

118.  their  stone:  that  is,  the  philoso- 
pher's stone,  deemed  a.  panacea, 
or  universal  remedy. 

120.  praying  in  aid  of  alchemists.  To 
pray  in  aid  is  a  legal  terrh  signi- 
fying to  call  in  the  help  of  an- 
other having  an  interest  in  the 
cause  in  question.  By  "pray- 
ing in  aid  of  alchemists,"  there- 
fore, Bacon  means  calling  in 
alchemists  as  advocates  to  as- 
sist him  in  his  argument. 

124.  of,  with  regard  to. 


4o  BACON. 

7.  The  second  fruit  of  friendship  is  healthful  and  sovereign  for  125 
the  understanding,  as  the  first  is  for  the  affections.     For  friend- 
ship maketh  indeed  a  fair  day  in  the  affections  from  storm  and 
tempests,  but  it  maketh  daylight  in  the  understanding,  out  of 
darkness  and  confusion  of  thoughts.     Neither  is  this  to  be  un- 
derstood only  of  faithful  counsel,  which  a  man  receiveth  from  130 
his  friend ;  but  before  you  come  to  that,  certain  it  is  that  whoso- 
ever hath  his  mind  fraught  with  many  thoughts,  his  wits  and  un- 
derstanding do  clarify  and  break  up  in  the  communicating  and 
discoursing  with  another :  he  tosseth  his  thoughts  more  easily ; 
he  marshalleth  them  more  orderly ;   he  seeth  how  they  look  135 
when  they  are  turned  into  words ;  finally,  he  waxeth  wiser  than 
himself,  and  that  more  by  an  hour's  discourse  than  by  a  day's 
meditation.     It  was  well  said  by  Themistocles  to  the  King  of 
Persia  "  that  speech  was   like  cloth  of  Arras  opened  and  put 
abroad,  whereby  the  imagery  doth  appear  in  figure ;  whereas  in  140 
thoughts  they  lie  but  as  in  packs."     Neither  is  this  second  fruit 
of  friendship,  in  opening  the  understanding,  restrained  only  to 
such  friends  as  are  able  to  give  a  man  counsel  (they,  indeed,  are 
best) ;  but  even  without  that  a  man  learneth  of  himself,  and 
bringeth  his  own  thoughts  to  light,  and  whetteth  his  wits  as  145 
against  a  stone,  which  itself  cuts  not.     In  a  word,  a  man  were 
better  relate  himself  to  a  statua*  or  picture  than  to  suffer  his 
thoughts  to  pass  in  smother.* 

8.  Add  now,  to  make  this  second  fruit  of  friendship  complete, 
that  other  point,  which  lieth  more  open,  and  falleth  within  vulgar  150 
observation — which  is,  faithful  counsel  from  a  friend.     Heracli- 


136.  waxeth,  grows. 

138.  Themis'tocles,      a      distinguished 

Athenian  statesman  and  gen- 
eral, bom  about  B.C.  514,  and 
died  449. 

139.  cloth  of  Arras.      The   word   used 

by  Plutarch  in  his  life  of  The- 
mistocles signifies  tapestry.  In 
Bacon's  time  this  was  called 
"  cloth  of  Arras,"  from  Arras,  a 


town  of  France  famous  for  its 
manufacture. 
142.  restrained,  restricted,  confined. 

146.  In  a  word,  etc. :  that  is,  it  is  better 

for  a  man  to  address  himself  to 
a  statue  or  picture  than  to  keep 
his  thoughts  stifled  in  his  own 
mind. 

147.  statua  =  statue. 
150.  vulgar,  common. 


BACONS  ESSAYS.  4I 

tus  saith  well,  in  one  of  his  enigmas,  "  Dry  light  is  ever  the 
best."  And  certain  it  is  that  the  light  that  a  man  receiveth  by 
counsel  from  another  is  drier  and  purer  than  that  which  cometh 
from  his  own  understanding  and  judgment,  which  is  ever  infused  «ss 
and  drenched  in  his  affections  and  customs :  so  as  there  is  as 
much  difference  between  the  counsel  that  a  friend  giveth  and 
that  a  man  giveth  himself  as  there  is  between  the  counsel  of  a 
friend  and  of  a  flatterer ;  for  there  is  no  such  flatterer  as  is  a 
man's  self,  and  there  is  no  such  remedy  against  flattery  of  a  »6o 
man's  self  as  the  liberty  of  a  friend.  Counsel  is  of  two  sorts : 
the  one  concerning  manners,  the  other  concerning  business.  For 
the  first,  the  best  preservative  to  keep  the  mind  in  health  is  the 
faithful  admonition  of  a  friend.  The  calling  of  a  man's  self  to  a 
strict  account  is  a  medicine  sometime  too  piercing  and  corro- 165 
sive,  reading  good  books  of  morality  is  a  little  flat  and  dead, 
observing  our  faults  in  others  is  sometimes  unproper  for  our 
case  •  but  the  best  receipt  (best,  I  say,  to  work,  and  best  to  take) 
is  the  admonition  of  a  friend. 

9.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to  behold  what  gross  errors  and  ex- 170 
treme  absurdities  many  (especially  of  the  greater  sort)  do  com- 
mit for  want  of  a  friend  to  tell  them  of  them,  to  the  great  dam- 
age both  of  their  fame  and  fortune  ;  for,  as  St.  James  saith,. they 
are  as  men  "  that  look  sometimes  into  a  glass,  and  presently  for- 
get their  own  shape  and  favor."  As  for  business,  a  man  may  175 
think,  if  he  will,  that  two  eyes  see  no  more  than  one ;  or  that  a 
gamester  seeth  always  more  than  a  looker-on ;  or  that  a  man  in 
anger  is  as  wise  as  he  that  hath  said  over  the  four  and  twenty 
letters ;  or  that  a  musket  may  be  shot  off  as  well  upon  the  arm 
as  upon  a  rest ;  and  such  other  fond*  and  high  imaginations  to  180 


152.  Dry  light:  that  is,  intellect  pure 
and  unclouded  by  passion.  In 
another  of  his  works  (On  the 
Wisdom  of  the  Ancients,  chap, 
xxvii.)  Bacon  expands  the  ref- 
erence to  the  saying  of  Hera- 
clitus  :  "  Heraclitus,  the  Ob- 
scure, said,  The  dry  light  was 
the  best  soul — meaning,  when  the 


or,  not  wet,  nor,  as  it  were, 
blooded  by  the  affections." 

156.  so  as  —  so  that. 

175.  favor,  countenance  or  appearance. 

1 80.  as  upon  a  rest.  The  allusion  is  to 
the  fact  that  the  musket  (intro- 
duced about  A.D.  1520)  was  at 
first  so  heavy  that  it  was  fixed 
upon  a  fork  or  rest. — fond,  fool- 


faculties  intellectual  are  in  vig- 1  ish. 


42  BACON. 

think  himself  all  in  all ;  but  when  all  is  done,  the  help  of  good 
counsel  is  that  which  setteth  business  straight.  And  if  any  man 
think  that  he  will  take  counsel,  but  it  shall  be  by  pieces — asking 
counsel  in  one  business  of  one  man,  and  in  another  business  of 
another  man — it  is  well  (that  is  to  say,  better,  perhaps,  than  if  he  i8s 
asked  none  at  all) ;  but  he  runneth  two  dangers  :  one,  that  he 
shall  not  be  faithfully  counselled — for  it  is  a  rare  thing,  except  it 
be  from  a  perfect  and  entire  friend,  to  have  counsel  given  but 
such  as  shall  be  bowed  and  crooked  to  some  ends  which  he  hath 
that  giveth  it ;  the  other,  that  he  shall  have  counsel  given  hurtful  190 
and  unsafe  (though  with  good  meaning),  and  mixed  partly  of  mis- 
chief and  partly  of  remedy — even  as  if  you  would  call  a  physician 
that  is  thought  good  for  the  cure  of  the  disease  you  complain  of, 
but  is  unacquainted  with  your  body,  and  therefore  may  put  you 
in  way  for  a  present  cure,  but  overthroweth  your  health  in  some  195 
other  kind,  and  so  cure  the  disease  and  kill  the  patient.  But  a 
friend  that  is  wholly  acquainted  with  a  man's  estate  will  beware, 
by  furthering  any  present  business,  how  he  dasheth  upon  other 
inconvenience.  And  therefore  rest  not  upon  scattered  counsels  ; 
they  will  rather  distract  and  mislead  then  settle  and  direct.  200 

10.  After  these  two  noble  fruits  of  friendship  (peace  in  the  af- 
fections and  support  of  the  judgment)  followeth  the  last  fruit, 
which  is,  like  the  pomegranate,  full  of  many  kernels ;  I  mean  aid, 
and  bearing  a  part  in  all  actions  and  occasions.     Here  the  best 
way  to  represent  to  life  the  manifold  use  of  friendship  is  to  cast  205 
and  see  how  many  things  there  are  which  a  man  cannot  do  him 
self ;  and  then  it  will  appear  that  it  was  a  sparing  speech  of  the 
ancients  to  say  "  that  a  friend  is  another  himself,"  for  that  a 
friend  is  far  more  than  himself.      Men  have  their  time,  and  die 
many  times  in  desire  of  some  things  which  they  principally  take  210 
to  heart — the  bestowing  of  a  child,  the  finishing  of  a  work,  or  the 
like.     If  a  man  have  a  true  friend,  he  may  rest  almost  secure 
that  the  care  of  those  things  will  continue  after  him ;  so  that  a 
man  hath,  as  it  were,  two  lives  in  his  desires.     A  man  hath  a 
body,  and  that  body  is  confined  to  a  place  ;  but  where  friendship  215 
is,  all  offices  of  life  are,  as  it  were,  granted  to  him  and  his  deputy, 


189.  crooked,  perverted. 

197.  estate,  state  or  circumstances. 


207.  sparing,  reasonable,  moderate. 
211.  bestowing,  disposal. 


BACON'S  ESSAYS. 


43 


for  he  may  exercise  them  by  his  friend.  How  many  things  are 
there  which  a  man  cannot,  with  any  face  or  comeliness,  say  or  do 
himself !  A  man  can  scarce  allege  his  own  merits  with  modesty, 
much  less  extol  them  ;  a  man  cannot  sometimes  brook  to  suppli-  2» 
cate  or  beg,  and  a  number  of  the  like ;  but  all  these  things  are 
graceful  in  a  friend's  mouth,  which  are  blushing  in  a  man's  own. 
So,  again,  a  man's  person  hath  many  proper*  relations,  which  he 
cannot  put  off.  A  man  cannot  speak  to  his  son  but  as  a  father ; 
to'  his  wife,  but  as  a  husband ;  to  his  enemy,  but  upon  terms :  225 
whereas  a  friend  may  speak  as  the  case  requires,  and  not  as  it 
sorteth  with  the  person.  But  to  enumerate  these  things  were 
endless.  I  have  given  the  rule  :  where  a  man  cannot  fitly  play 
his  own  part,  if  he  have  not  a  friend  he  may  quit  the  stage. 


to 


222.  arc  blushing:    that   is,  are   fit 

make  cfne  blush. 

223,  224.  proper  ...  put  off :  that  is,  pe- 


culiar relations    or    conditions 
which  he  cannot  escape. 
227.  sorteth,  suits,  agrees. 


III. 

JOHN    MILTON. 

1608-1676. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  CHANNING. 

i.  In  delineating  Milton's  character  as  a  poet,  we  are  saved 
the  necessity  of  looking  far  for  its  distinguishing  attributes.  His 
name  is  almost  identified  with  sublimity.  He  is  in  truth  the 
sublimest  of  men.  He  rises,  not  by  effort  or  discipline,  but  by 


CHANNIN&S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  MILTON.        45 

a  native  tendency  and  a  godlike  instinct,  to  the  contemplation  of 
objects  of  grandeur  and  awfulness.  He  always  moves  with  a 
conscious  energy.  There  is  no  subject  so  vast  or  terrific  as  to 
repel  or  intimidate  him.  The  overpowering  grandeur  of  a  theme 
kindles  and  attracts  him.  He  enters  on  the  description  of  the 
infernal  regions  with  a  fearless  tread,  as  if  he  felt  within  himself 
a  power  to  erect  the  prison-house  of  fallen  spirits,  to  encircle 
them  with  flames  and  horrors  worthy  of  their  crimes,  to  call  forth 
from  them  shouts  which  should  "tear  hell's  concave,"  and  to  em- 
body in  their  chief  an  archangel's  energies  and  a  demon's  pride 
and  hate.  Even  the  stupendous  conception  of  Satan  seems  never 
to  oppress  his  faculties.  This  character  of  power  runs  through 
all  Milton's  works.  His  descriptions  of  nature  show  a  free  and 
bold  hand.  He  has  no  need  of  the  minute,  graphic  skill  which 
we  prize  in  Cowper  or  Crabbe.  With  a  few  strong  or  delicate 
touches,  he  impresses,  as  it  were,  his  own  mind  on  the  scenes 
which  he  would  describe,  and  kindles  the  imagination  of  the 
gifted  reader  to  clothe  them  with  the  same  radiant  hues  under 
which  they  appeared  to  his  own. 

2.  From  this  very  imperfect  view  of  the  qualities  of  Milton's 
poetry,  we  hasten  to  his  great  work,  Paradise  Lost,  perhaps  the 
noblest  monument  of  human  genius.  The  two  first  books,  by 
universal  consent,  stand  pre-eminent  in  sublimity.  Hell  and 
hell's  king  have  a  terrible  harmony,  and  dilate  into  new  grandeur 
and  awfulness  the  longer  we  contemplate  them.  From  one  ele- 
ment, "solid  and  liquid  fire,"  the  poet  has  framed  a  world  of 
horror  and  suffering,  such  as  imagination  had  never  traversed. 
But  fiercer  flames  than  those  which  encompass  Satan  burn  in 
his  own  soul.  Revenge,  exasperated  pride,  consuming  wrath, 
ambition  ;  though  fallen,  yet  unconquered  by  the  thunders  of  the 
Omnipotent,  and  grasping  still  at  the  empire  of  the  universe — 
these  form  a  picture  more  sublime  and  terrible  than  hell.  Hell 
yields  to  the  spirit  which  it  imprisons.  The  intensity  of  its  fires 
reveals  the  intenser  passions  and  more  vehement  will  of  Satan ; 
and  the  ruined  Archangel  gathers  into  himself  the  sublimity  of 
the  scene  which  surrounds  him.  This  forms  the  tremendous  in- 
terest of  these  wonderful  books.  We  see  mind  triumphant  over 
the  most  terrible  powers  of  nature.  We  see  unutterable  agony 
subdued  by  energy  of  soul. 


46  MILTON. 

3.  Milton's  versification  has  the  prime  charm  of  expressive- 
ness.    His  numbers  vary  with,  and  answer  to,  the  depth  or  ten- 
derness or  sublimity  of  his  conceptions,  and  hold  intimate  alli- 
ance with  the  soul.     Like  Michael  Angelo,  in  whose  hands  the 
marble  was  said  to  be  flexible,  he  bends  our  language,  which 
foreigners  reproach  with  hardness,  into  whatever  forms  the  sub- 
ject demands.     All  the  treasures  of  sweet  and  solemn  sound  are 
at  his  command.     Words  harsh  and  discordant  in  the  writings 
of  less  gifted  men  flow  through  his  poetry  in  a  full  stream  of 
harmony.     This  power  over  language  is  not  to  be  ascribed  to 
Milton's  musical  ear.     It  belongs  to  the  soul.     It  is  a  gift  or 
exercise  of  genius,  which  has  power  to  impress  itself  on  whatever 
it  touches ;  and  finds  or  frames,  in  sounds,  motions,  and  ma- 
terial forms,  correspondences  and  harmonies  with  its  own  fervid 
thoughts  and  feeelings. 

4.  Milton's  poetry  is  characterized  by  seriousness.    Great  and 
various  as  are  its  merits,  it  does  not  discover  all  the  variety  of 
genius  which  we  find  in  Shakespeare,  whose  imagination  revelled 
equally  in  regions  of  mirth,  beauty,  and  terror,  now  evoking 
spectres,  now  sporting  with  fairies,  and   now  "ascending  the 
highest  heaven  of  invention."     Milton  was  cast  on  times  too 
solemn  and  eventful,  was  called  to  take  part  in  transactions  too 
perilous,  and  had  too  perpetual  need  of  the  presence  of  high 
thoughts  and  motives,  to  indulge  himself  in  light  and  gay  crea- 
tions, even  had  his  genius  been  more  flexible  and  sportive.     But 
his  poetry,  though  habitually  serious,  is  always  healthful  and 
bright  and  vigorous.     It  has  no  gloom.     He  took  no  pleasure 
in  drawing  dark  pictures  of  life  ;  for  he  knew  by  experience  that 
there  is  a  power  in  the  soul  to  transmute  calamity  into  an  occa- 
sion and  nutriment  of  moral  power  and  triumphant  virtue.    We 
find  nowhere  in  his  writings  that  whining  sensibility  and  exagger- 
ation of  morbid  feeling  which  make  so  much  of  modern  poetry 
effeminating.     If  he  is  not  gay,  he  is  not  spirit -broken.     His 
L? Allegro  proves  that  he  understood  thoroughly  the  bright  and 
joyous  aspects  of  nature ;  and  in  his  Penseroso,  where  he  was 
tempted  to  accumulate  images  of  gloom,  we  learn  that  the  sad- 
dest views  which  he  took  of  creation  are  such  as  inspire  only 
pensive  musing  or  lofty  contemplation. 

5.  From  Milton's  poetry  we  turn  to  his  prose ;  and,  first,  it  is 


CHANNING'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  MILTON.        47 

objected  to  his  prose  writings  that  the  style  is  difficult  and  ob- 
scure, abounding  in  involutions,  transpositions,  and  Latinisms ; 
that  his  protracted  sentences  exhaust  and  weary  the  mind,  and 
too  often  yield  it  no  better  recompense  than  confused  and  in- 
distinct perceptions. 

6.  We  mean  not  to  deny  that  these  charges  have  some  grounds ; 
but  they  seem  to  us  much  exaggerated ;  and  when  we  consider 
that  the  difficulties  of  Milton's  style  have  almost  sealed  up  his 
prose  writings,  we  cannot  but  lament  the  fastidiousness  and  ef- 
feminacy of  modern  readers.  We  know  that  simplicity  and  per- 
spicuity are  important  qualities  of  style ;  but  there  are  vastly 
nobler  and  more  important  ones,  such  as  energy  and  richness, 
and  in  these  Milton  is  not  surpassed.  The  best  style  is  not  that 
which  puts  the  reader  most  easily  and  in  the  shortest  time  in 
possession  of  a  writer's  naked  thoughts ;  but  that  which  is  the 
truest  image  of  a  great  intellect,  which  conveys  fully  and  carries 
furthest  into  other  souls  the  conceptions  and  feelings  of  a  pro- 
found and  lofty  spirit.  To  be  universally  intelligible  is  not  the 
highest  merit.  A  great  mind  cannot,  without  injurious  constraint, 
shrink  itself  to  the  grasp  of  common  passive  readers.  Its  natu- 
ral movement  is  free,  bold,  and  majestic ;  and  it  ought  not  to  be 
required  to  part  with  these  attributes  that  the  multitude  may 
keep  pace  with  it.  A  full  mind  will  naturally  overflow  in  long 
sentences  ;  and  in  the  moment  of  inspiration,  when  thick-coming 
thoughts  and  images  crowd  on  it,  will  often  pour  them  forth  in  a 
splendid  confusion,  dazzling  to  common  readers,  but  kindling  to 
congenial  spirits.  There  are  writings  which  are  clear  through 
their  shallowness.  We  must  not  expect  in  the  ocean  the  trans- 
parency of  the  calm  inland  stream.  For  ourselves,  we  love  what 
is  called  easy  reading  perhaps  too  well,  especially  in  our  hours 
of  relaxation ;  but  we  love,  too,  to  have  our  faculties  tasked  by 
master-spirits.  We  delight  in  long  sentences  in  which  a  great 
truth,  instead  of  being  broken  up  into  numerous  periods,  is 
spread  out  in  its  full  proportions,  is  irradiated  with  variety  of 
illustrations  and  imagery,  is  set  forth  in  a  splendid  affluence  of 
language,  and  flows,  like  a  full  stream,  with  a  majestic  harmony 
which  fills  at  once  the  ear  and  soul. 


48  MILTON. 

THREE  POETS  ON  MILTON. 
I. 

Three  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn. 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpassed, 
The  next  in  majesty,  in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go  : 
To  make  a  third,  she  joined  the  other  two. 

DRYDEN 
II. 
Nor  second  he  that  rode  sublime 

Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  Ecstasy, 

The  secret  of  th'  abyss  to  spy. 
He  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time — 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire-blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble,  while  they  gaze, 
He  saw ;  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night.  GRAY. 

III. 
Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour.1 

England  hath  need  of  thee  :  she  is  a  fen 

Of  stagnant  waters  ;  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men  ; 

Oh  !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart ; 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea : 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free, 
So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 

In  cheerful  godliness ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

WORDSWORTH. 

1  "This  hour;"  to  wit,  1802,  when  this  sonnet  was  written. 


UALLEGRO. 


L— L'ALLEGRO. 

[INTRODUCTION.— L'Alle'gro  (Italian)  signifies  the  cheerful  or  merry  man, 
and  the  poem  celebrates  the  charms  of  mirth,  just  as  //  Pensero  so  (the  melan- 
choly man — see  page  57)  celebrates  the  charms  of  melancholy.  The  two  poems 
should  be  read  together,  for  they  are  counterparts  of  each  other.  It  may  be 
noted  that  the  respective  characteristics  of  the  two  speakers  are  scarcely  ex- 
pressed by  the  terms  merry  and  melancholy.  L1  Allegro  is  a  celebration  of  the 
social  side  of  life — the  view  taken  of  life  by  one  who  loves  to  associate  with  the 
"  kindly  race  of  men  ;"  while  //  Penseroso  brings  before  us  the  moods  and  feel- 
ings of  a  grave  and  serious  spirit — of  one  whose  eye  looks  inward  rather  than 
outward.  "  There  can  be  little  doubt  as  to  which  of  the  two  characters  he 
portrays  was  after  Milton's  own  heart.  He  portrays  L? Allegro  with  much 
skill  and  excellence  ;  but  he  cannot  feign  with  him  the  sympathy  he  genuinely 
feels  with  the  other ;  into  his  portrait  of  //  Penseroso  he  throws  himself,  so  to 
speak,  with  all  his  soul." — HALES  :  Longer  English  Poems.] 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy,* 

Of  Cerberus  *  and  blackest  Midnight  born, 
In  Stygian  *  cave  forlorn, 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights  unholy ! 
Find  out  some  uncouth*  cell, 

Where  brooding  Darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings, 

And  the  night  raven  sings  ; 

There,  under  ebon  shades  and  low-browed  rocks, 

As  ragged  as  thy  locks, 


NOTES.— Line  2.  Of  Cerberus  . . .  born.  I  3.  Styg'ian,  relating  to  Styx,  a  river  of 


The  genealogy  here  assigned 
to  "Melancholy"  is  Milton's 
own  invention. 


the  infernal  region ;  hence,  hell- 
ish, hateful. 
5.  uncouth,  wild,  strange. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— Explain  the  following  names  in  classical  mythology : 
"  Cerberus  "  (2) ;  "  Euphrosyne  "  (12) ;  and  "  Bacchus  "  (16).— Give  the  etymoK 
ogy  of  the  following  words:  "Melancholy"  (i);  "ycleped"  (12);  "dight" 

i- 1 6.  Hence  .  .  .  bore.  To  what  class  (grammatically  considered)  do  the 
first  three  sentences  belong  ? 

I.  Melancholy.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  22.)-Give  another 
instance  of  the  use  of  this  figure  in  sentence  i,  and  another  in  sentence  2. 

i,  4.  What  phrases  present  a  vivid  picture  of  the  under-world? 

5.  uncouth.     How  does  its  modern  differ  from  its  original  meaning  ? 

9!  As  ragged,  etc.     What  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  19.) 

4 


5° 


MILTON. 


In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 
But  come,  thou  goddess  fair  and  free, 
In  heaven  ycleped  *  Euphrosyne,* 
And  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth, 
Whom  lovely  Venus  at  a  birth, 
With  two  sister  Graces  more, 
To  ivy-crowne'd  Bacchus  bore. 
****** 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek ; 
Sport,  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it  as.  ye  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe ; 


2.S 


10.  Cimme'rian,  relating  to  the  Cim- 
merii,  a  mythical  people,  who, 
according  to  Homer,  lived  in 
a  land  where  the  sun  never 
shone. 

12.  ycleped,  called. 

12  -  1 6.  Euphros'yne  .  .  .  bore.  "  Eu- 
phrosyne,"  one  of  the  three 
Graces  that  attended  on  Venus, 
the  goddess  of  love.  The  "  two 
sister  graces"  were  Agla'ia 
(grace)  and  Thali'a  (favor). 


16.  Bacchus  (in  Greek  mythology  Dio- 
ny'sus)  was  the  youthful  and 
beautiful  god  of  wine.  He  was 
reputed  the  son  of  Jupiter  and 
Sem'ele. 

19.  Quips,  smart,  sarcastic  jests ;  cranks, 
turns  or  conceits  of  speech ; 
wanton,  free  and  easy. 

21.  He'be,  the  goddess  of  youth,  and 

daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Juno. 

22.  love  to  live:    that  is,  are  wont  to 

live  (Latin  idiom). 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 10.  dark  Cimmerian.     Is  there  any  tautology  here?  • 

16.  ivy-crowned.     Why  is  this  an  appropriate  epithet  ? 

20.  wreathed.     What  epithet  contrasting  with  "wreathed"  is  applied  to 
"  Care  "  in  line  23  ? 

23,  24.  Sport . .  .  sides.     Give  three  examples  of  personification  (see  Def.  22) 
in  this  passage. 

25,  26.  What  expression  in  this  passage  is  now  a  familiar  quotation  ?     And 
compare  with  Shakespeare  (Tempest,  iv.  2) : 

"  Come  and  go, 
Each  one  tripping  on  his  toe." 


LALLEGRO. 


And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  Liberty. 
And,  if  I  give  thee  honor  due, 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew* 
To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreprove'd*  pleasures  free; 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight, 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  Night 
From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise  ; 
Then  to  come  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow, 
Through  the  sweet-brier,  or  the  vine, 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine, 
While  the  cock,  with  lively  din, 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 


30.  crew,  &t  or  company.  The  word 
is  not  here  used  in  its  deroga- 
tory sense. 

32.  anreproyed,  unreprovable,  blame- 
less. 

37.  in  spite  of  sorrow  =  out  of  a  spirit 
of  spite  against  sorrow ;  that  is, 
to  spite  sorrow. 


39, 40.  sweet-brier . . .  eglantine.  Eglan- 
tine and  sweet-brier  being  the 
same  plant,  it  is  conjectured 
that  by  "twisted  eglantine" 
Milton  has  reference  to  the 
honey-suckle. 

41.  lively  din.  Compare  with  Grey's 
"  shrill  clarion." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 28.  mountain  nymph.  Can  you  think  of  any  reason 
why  "  Liberty  "  is  styled  a  "  mountain  nymph  ?" 

32.  unreproved  pleasures  free.  Note  that  the  order  of  words  here  is  adjective 
-f  noun  -(-adjective.  This  is  a  favorite  arrangement  with  Milton.  Are  there 
any  other  examples  of  this  order  in  the  present  poem  ?  What  would  be  the 
prose  arrangement  ? 

33-60.  To  hear  the  lark  .  . .  dale.  In  this  fine  piece  of  description,  enumerate 
the  various  sights  and  sounds  that  address  the  senses  of  L?  Allegro.  Select 
the  most  picturesque  touches. 

35.  his.     Whose  ?  and  why  the  masculine  form  ? 

37.  to  come.  On  what  does  "to  come"  depend — on  "admit"  or  on  "to 
hear  ?"  On  the  answer  to  this  question  rests  whether  it  is  L'Allegro  or  the 
lark  that  comes  to  "  bid  good-morrow." 

42.  Scatters  .  .  .  darkness.  What  figure  of  speech  in  this  ?  (See  Def.  20.) 
From  what  is  the  metaphor  taken  ?  Expand  it  into  a  simile.  (See  Def.  20,  ii.) 


52 


MILTON. 

And  to  the  stack  or  the  barn  door 

Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before  ; 

Oft  list'ning  how  the  hounds  and  horn 

Cheerly  rouse  the  slumb'ring  morn, 

From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 

Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill ; 

Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 

By  hedge-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 

Right  against  the  eastern  gate, 

Where  the  great  sun  begins  his  state, 

Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light, 

The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight,* 

While  the  ploughman  near  at  hand 

Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 

And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 

And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe, 

And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale  * 

Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures 

While  the  landscape  round  it  measures — 

Russet  lawns  and  fallows  gray, 

Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray, 

Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 

The  laboring  clouds  do  often  rest, 

Meadows  trim  with  daisies  pied,* 

Shallow  brooks  and  rivers  wide. 

Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 

Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 


ss 


46.  Cheerly  =  cheerily. 

47.  hoar,  rime-white. 
51.  against,  towards. 

54.  in  thousand  liveries  dight :  that  is, 
arrayed  in  a  thousand  suits  of 
color. 


59.  tells  his  tale  =  tells  or  counts  the 
tale,  or  number  of  his  flock. 

61.  Straight,  straightway,  immediately. 

63.  lawns,  open  grassy  spaces,  pastures ; 
gray,  light-brown. 

67.  pied,  variegated  in  color. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 59.  Give  the  etymology  of  the  word  "  tale." 
65-67.  What  epithets  are  applied  to  "breast,"  "clouds,"  and  "meadows?" 
Are  these  literal  or  metaphorical  ? 


UALLEGRO. 

Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies,* 

The  cynosure  *  of  neighb'ring  eyes. 

Hard  by,  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 

From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks, 

Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  met 

Are  at  their  savory  dinner  set 

Of  herbs  and  other  country  messes, 

Which  the  neat-handed  Phyllis  dresses  ; 

And  then  in  haste  her  bower  *  she  leaves, 

With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  sheaves, 

Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead, 

To  the  tanned  haycock  in  the  mead. 

Sometimes  with  secure  *  delight 
The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebecs  sound 
To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  checkered  shade ; 


53 


75 


71.  lies,  dwells,  resides. 

72.  cynosure,  any  object  that  strongly 

attracts  attention. 

75.  Cor'ydon  and  Thyr'sis,  names  of 
shepherds,  used  by  Virgil. 

77-  messes,  dishes  of  food. 

78.  Phyllis,  the  name  of  a  country  girl 
that  figures  in  Virgil's  Eclogues ; 
hence  meant  to  typify  any  rus- 
tic maiden. 

80.  Thes'tylis,  a  female  slave  mentioned 


by  Theo'critus ;  hence,  a  coun- 
try lass  in  general. 

83.  secure,  free  from  care. 

84.  upland  hamlets.       "  Upland  "    is 

here  used,  not  in  the  primary 
sense :  the  meaning  is  country 
hamlets  as  contrasted  with  the 
"  Towered  cities  "  mentioned  in 
line  109. 

86.  rebecs,  a  stringed  instrument  of 
the  fiddle  kind. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 72.  The  cynosure,  etc.  What  figure  of  speech  is  this  ? 
(See  Def.  20.) — What  is  the  derivation  of  "  cynosure  ?" 

73-82.  Hard  by  ...  mead.  Is  this  a  period  or  a  loose  sentence  ?  (See  Defs. 
$7,58.) — Change  this  sentence  into  the  prose  order. 

75-80.  Contrast  the  allusions  in  these  lines  with  those  in  lines  92  -  106. 
Which  are  classical  ?  Which  are  derived  from  old  English  folk-lore  ? 

83.  secure.     How  does  the  meaning  here  differ  from  the  modern  sense  ? 

83-108,  and  109-116.  In  the  former  passage  we  have  a  picture  of  rustic- 
pleasures  in  the  upland  hamlets :  what  contrasting  pictures  have  we  in  the 
latter  passage  ? 


54 


MILTON. 

And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 

On  a  sunshine  holiday, 

Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail ; 

Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale, 

With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat : 

How  fairy  Mab  the  junkets  *  eat ; 

She  was  pinched  and  pulled,  she  said ; 

And  he,  by  friar's  lantern*  led ; 

Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 

To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 

When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 

His  shadowy  flail  hath  threshed  the  corn 

That  ten  day-laborers  could  not  end ; 

Then  lies  him  down  the  lubbar*  fiend, 

And,  stretched  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 

Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength ; 

And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings, 

Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep, 

By  whispering  winds  soon  lulled  asleep. 

Towered  cities  please  us  then, 

And  the  busy  hum  of  men, 

Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold, 

In  weeds  *  of  peace,  high  triumphs  hold, 


95 


105 


94.  Mab,  the  queen  of  the  fairies ; 
junkets,  sweetmeats,  dainties. 

95, 96.  She  ...  he :  that  is,  some  of 
the  story-tellers. 

96.  And  he  ...  led :  that  is,  he  (one  of 
the  story-tellers)  recounts  that 
"he  was  led  by,"  etc.  There 
is  said  to  be  here  an  error  in 
Milton's  folk  -  lore  :  "  Friar 
Rush  haunted  houses,  not 
fields,"  and  the  sprite  that 
played  the  prank  referred  to 
must  have  been  Jack-o'-the- 
Lanthorn,  or  Will-o'-the-Wisp. 


97.  Tells  .  . .  drudging  goblin.  Supply 
he  (that  is,  the  last  story-teller) 
as  subject  of  "tells."  By 
"drudging  goblin"  is  meant  a 
Robin  Goodfellow,  a  domestic 
fairy  that  would  do  any  kind  of 
drudging  work  for  a  bowl  of 
milk. 

105.  he  flings:  that  is,  he  flings  him- 
self; he  rushes. 

109.  then:  that  is,  at  some  other  time. 

112.  weeds,  garments;  triumphs,  pub- 
lic shows  or  spectacles,  as  pag- 
eants, tournaments,  etc. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 107, 108.  Thus  done  . . .  asleep.  Analyze  this  sentence. 


VALLEGRO. 

With  store  of  ladies,  whose  bright  eyes 

Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 

Of  wit  or  arms,  while  both  contend 

To  win  her  grace  whom  all  commend. 

There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 

In  saffron  robe,  with  taper  clear, 

And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 

With  mask  and  antique  pageantry ; 

Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 

On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream. 

Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 

If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 

Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child, 

Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

And  ever,  against  eating  cares, 

Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs, 

Married  to  immortal  verse — 

Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce 


55 


"5 


125 


113.  store  of  ladies,  many  ladies. 

114.  Rain  influence.     According  to  the 

doctrine  of  astrology,  the  rays 
or  aspects  flowing  upon  (Lat. 
influere,  to  flow  upon)  men  ex- 
ercised a  mysterious  power  over 
their  fortunes  :  hence  the  mod- 
ern meaning  of  "  influence."  In 
the  passage  above,  the  word  is 
used  in  its  original  sense. 
117.  Hymen,  the  god  of  marriage. 


119.  pomp,  solemn  procession. 

1 20.  mask,  a  masquerade. 

124.  If  Jonson's  learned  sock:  that  is, 
if  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  comedies 
be  playing;  sock,  a  low-heeled 
shoe  worn  by  comedians  in 
ancient  times. 

128.  Lydian  airs.  Of  the  three  modes 
or  styles  of  Greek  music,  the 
"Lydian"  was  the  soft  and 
voluptuous. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 113.  whose  bright  eyes,  etc.  Observe  the  splendor 
of  the  imagery.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech,  and  from  what  is  it  taken  ? 
(See  note  on  "influence.") 

124.  Jonson's  learned  sock.  Ben  Jonson,  a  contemporary  of  Shakespeare,  wrote 
tragedies  as  well  as  comedies.    Can  you  tell  why  it  is  befitting  in  this  poem  to 
refer  to  him  exclusively  as  a  writer  of  comedies  ? — Contrast  with  the  "gorgeous 
Tragedy  "  in  //  Penseroso  (line  88,  etc.,  page  60,  of  this  book). 

125,  126.  sweetest  Shakespeare  . . .  wood-notes  wild.    Do  you  think  that  "  sweet- 
est "  and  "  warbling  his  native  wood-notes,"  etc.,  are  adequate  expressions  to 
apply  to  the  greatest  literary  artist  that  the  world  has  ever  seen  ? 


5  6  MILTON. 

In  notes  with  many  a  winding  bout 

Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out 

With  wanton  heed,  and  giddy  cunning, 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 

Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie  135 

The  hidden  soul  of  harmony ; 

That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 

From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 

Of  heaped  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 

Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear  140 

Of  Pluto  to  have  quite  set  free 

His  half-regained  Eurydice. 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 

Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 


131.  bout,  a  bend  or  turn — here  a  mu- 
sical passage. 

133.  wanton,  sportive,  flying  free.  In 
this  line  the  adjective  describes 
the  appearance,  the  noun  the 
reality. 

137-142.  Or'pheus' . . .  Euryd'ice.  Or- 
pheus, son  of  Apollo,  who,  with 
the  music  of  his  lyre,  had  the 


jects.  His  wife,  Eurydice,  hav- 
ing died,  he  followed  her  into 
the  infernal  region,  where  the 
god  Pluto  was  so  moved  by  the 
music  that  Orpheus  almost  suc- 
ceeded in  carrying  her  back  to 
earth. 

139.  Elysian,    pertaining    to    Elysium, 
the  abode  of  the  blessed  after 


power  to  move  inanimate  ob-  I  death. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  137-142.  That  Orpheus'  self. . .  Eiirydice.  What  is 
the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  34.)  It  is  in  Milton's  best  style — rich,  chaste, 
and  classic. 

127-144.  Commit  to  memory  this  splendid  passage. 

NOTE  ON  THE  VOCABULARY. — Ninety  per  cent,  of  the  words  in  L1  Allegro 
are  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin — proper  names  being  excluded  and  repetition  of 
words  counted. 


2L  PENSEROSO. 


57 


II.— IL  PENSEROSO. 
Hence,  vain  deluding  joys, 

The  brood  of  Folly  without  father  bred ! 

How  little  you  bestead,* 
Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys. 

Dwell  in  some  idle  brain, 
And  fancies  fond  *  with  gaudy  shapes  possess, 
As  thick  and  numberless 
As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sunbeams, 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams, 

The  fickle  pensioners  of  Morpheus'  train. 
But  hail,  thou  goddess  sage  and  holy, 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy, 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  Wisdom's  hue — 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister  might  beseem, 
Or  that  starred  Ethiop  queen  that  strove 
To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 
The  sea-nymphs,  and  their  powers  offended. 


NOTES. — 3.  bestead,  avail. 
6.  fond,  foolish. 

10.  pensioners,  retinue,  followers.— Mor- 
pheus, the  son  of  Sleep,  and  the 
god  of  dreams. 

14.  bit,  meet,  touch  ;  to  strike. 

16.  O'erlaid  with  black :  that  is,  darken- 
ed in  visage. 

1 8.  Prince  Memnon's  sister.  Memnon 
was  an  Ethiopian  prince  men- 
tioned by  Homer.  He  was  cel- 
ebrated for  his  beauty.  The 
"  sister  "  was  Hem'era,  and  is 
also  supposed  to  have  been 


very  lovely.— beseem,  seem  fit 
for. 

19-21.  that  starred  Ethiop  queen,  etc. 
The  allusion1  is  to  Cassiope'a, 
wife  of  Cepheus,  King  of  Ethio- 
pia. The  usual  story  is  that  it 
was  the  beauty  of  her  daughter 
Androm'eda  that  she  declared 
to  surpass  that  of  the  "sea- 
nymphs"  (Nereides).  Cassio- 
pea,  as  also  her  daughter,  was 
"  starred,"  that  is,  placed  among 
the  constellations  after  death. 

21.  their  powers  =  their  divinity. 


1  This  is  an  "  allusion  "  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word — that  is  to  say,  it  is 
an  oblique,  or  indirect,  reference.  The  word  is  often  misapplied  to  direct  ref- 
erence or  mention. 


5  8  MILTON. 

Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure, 
Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure,* 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain,* 

Flowing  with  majestic  train,  25 

And  sable  stole  of  Cypres  lawn, 
Over  thy  decent*  shoulders  drawn. 
Come,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state, 
With  even  step,  and  musing  gait, 

And  looks  commercing*  with  the  skies,  30 

Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes : 
There,  held  in  holy  passion  still, 
Forget  thyself  to  marble,  till 
With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast, 
Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast.  3S 

And  join  with  thee  calm  Peace,  and  Quiet, 
Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet, 
And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring 
s     Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing. 

And  add  to  these  retired  Leisure,  40 

That  in  trim  gardens  takes  his  pleasure. 

But  first,  and  chief est,  with  thee  bring 

Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 

Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne, 

The  cherub  Contemplation  ;  45 

And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along, 


22.  nun.     The  word  is  here  used  in- 

definitely to  denote  a  pious  re- 
cluse. 

23.  demure,  grave. 

24.  grain,  a  shade  of  purple. 

26.  stole,  veil  or  hood ;  not  the  stola 
proper,  or  long  robe,  of  the  Ro- 
man matrons. — Cypres  ( =  Cy- 
prus) lawn  was  a  thin  transpar- 
ent texture  of  fine  linen.1 


27.  decent,    becoming    (because    cov- 

ered). 

28.  wonted    state,  that  is,  accustomed 

dignity. 

30.  commercing,  holding  intercourse. 

32.  holy  passion  still  =  holy  +  still  (si- 
lent)-!-passion. 

35.  as  fast,  as  firmly. 

43.  yon  (adv.),  yonder,  there. 

46.  hist,  silently  ;  supply  bring. 


1  Cypres  is  defined  in  an  old  English  dictionary  as  a  "fine  linen,  crespi ; 
and  from  crespe  ( =  curled,  crisped)  come  our  crape  and  cr&pe. 


IL  PENSEROSO. 
Xfvtv  C  Al/LL^v-^C 

'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song, 

In  her  sweetest,  saddest  plight, 

Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  nighty 

While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke 

Gently  o'er  the  accustomed  oak  : 

Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly, 

Most  musical,  most  melancholy ! 

Thee,  chantress,  oft,  the  woods  among, 

I  woo,  to  hear  thy  even-song ; 

And,  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 

On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green, 

To  behold  the  wandering  moon 

Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 

Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 

Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way ; 

And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bowed, 

Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 

I  hear  the  far-off  curfew*  sound 

Over  some  wide-watered  shore, 

Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar. 

Or,  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 

Some  still,  removed  place  will  fit, 

Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 

Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom ; 

Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 

Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 


59 


47-  'Less   =  unless  ;      Philomel,    the 

nightingale. 

50.  Cynthia,  the    moon   goddess  ;   her 

dragon  yoke :  that  is,  her  train 
drawn  by  dragons. 

51.  the  accustomed  oak.      This    seems 

to  refer  to  a  particular  land- 
scape which  Milton  had  in  his 
mind. 

59.  near  her  highest  noon :  that  is,  near- 
ly full. 


64.  plat,  plot ;  compare  grass-//<atf. 

65.  curfew,  the  curfew  bell.    See  Glos- 

sary, and  compare  with  Gray's 
Elegy,  page  196  of  this  book. 

66.  Over  some  ^ride-watered  shore :   that 

is,  over  some  shore  and  the 

wide  piece  of  water  (river  or 

lake)  that  borders  it. 
69.  removed,  sequestered. 
73.  save,  except.  This  word  is  originally 

the  imperative  of  the  verb/0  save. 


6o 


MILTON. 


Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm,* 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 
Or  let  my  lamp,  at  midnight  hour, 
Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower, 
Where  I  may  oft  outwatch  the  Bear, 
With  thrice-great  Hermes,  or  unsphere 
The  spirit  of  Plato  to  unfold 
What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
The  immortal  mind,  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook  ; 
And  of  those  demons  that  are  found 
In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground, 
Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent  * 
With  planet  or  with  element. 
Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes'  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine ; 


75 


90 


74.  bellman's  dnmsy  charm :  that  is,  the 

watchman's  drowsy  song  or 
chant.  In  the  olden  times  in 
England,  the  watchmen,  on  their 
rounds,  called  out  the  hours  and 
a  blessing  on  the  houses. 

75.  nightly  =by  night. 

78.  outwatch  the  Bear.     This  would  be 

all  night,  as  the  constellation  of 
the  Bear  never  sets. 

79.  thrice-great  Her'mes.       Hermes,    a 

reputed  divine  personage,  the 
god  Thoth  of  the  Egyptians ; 
he  was  the  author  of  the  most 
ancient  Egyptian  lore.  "  Thrice 
great"  as  king,  priest,  and  philos- 
opher.—  unsphere,  draw  down: 
the  passage  is  metaphorical, 
and  means  communion  with  the 
spirit  of  Plato  through  the  study 
of  his  writings. 

80.  Plato,  the  sublimest  of  the  Greek 


philosophers,  was  born  B.C. 
429. 

86.  consent,  in  the  literal  sense  =  sym- 
pathy. The  reference  is  to  the 
mediaeval  doctrine  of  astrology. 

89.  In  sceptred  pall :    that  is,  in  royal 

robe. 

90.  Thebes.     By  two  Greek  dramatists 

Thebes  was  made  the  scene  of 
some  of  their  most  famous  trag- 
edies. The  reference  in  "  Pe- 
lops' line  "  is  to  the  murder  of 
Agamemnon,  who  was  reputed 
a  descendant  of  the  mythic  hero 
Pelops,  and  hence  who  was  of 
"  Pelops'  line,"  or  race. 

91.  the  tale  of  Troy  divine.       The    ref- 

erence here  is  not,  as  might  be 
supposed,  to  Homer's  Iliad,  but 
to  the  various  Greek  dramas 
written  on  episodes  in  the  "  tale 
of  Troy." 


IL  PENSEROSO. 

Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskined  stage. 

But,  O  sad  Virgin,  that  thy  power 
Might  raise  Musaeus  from  his  bower ; 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 
Such  notes  as,  warbled  to  the  string, 
Drew  iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek, 
And  made  Hell  grant  what  love  did  seek ; 
Or  call  up  him  that  left  half  told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold, 
Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife, 
And  who  had  Canace  to  wife, 
That  owned  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass, 
And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass, 
On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride ; 
And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside 
In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung, 
Of  tourneys  *  and  of  trophies  hung, 
Of  forests,  and  enchantments  drear — 
Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear. 

Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career, 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear ; 
Not  tricked  and  frounced,1*  as  she  was  wont 
With  the  Attic  boy  to  hunt, 


61 


105 


93.  the  bnskined  stage :  that  is,  Trage- 
dy's stage.  The  tragic  actor 
wore  a  buskin,  or  high-heeled 
shoe.  Contrast  with  "  Jonson's 
learned  sock  "  in  L?  Allegro,  line 
124.  The  allusion  in  92  and 
93  is  thought  to  be  to  the  trag- 
edies of  Shakespeare. 

95.  Musae'us,  a  mythical  Greek  poet, 

said  to  be  the  son  of  Orpheus. 

96.  Orpheus.     See  L1  Allegro,  line  137, 
loo.  Or  call  up  him  that  left  half  told. 

By  "him"  is  meant  Chaucer 
(A.D.  1328-1400).  The  Squire's 
Tale,  in  which  figure  Cambus- 
can and  the  other  personages 
named,  is  left  by  Chaucer  un- 


finished— not  even  "half  told,''" 
for  it  is  little  more  than  begun. 

106.  the  Tartar  king:  namely,  Cambus- 

can (Cambus  khan). 

107.  great  bards :   to  wit,  poets  of  ro- 

mance, as  Spenser,  Tasso,  Ari- 

osto,  etc. 

109.  tourneys,  tournaments, 
ill.  Where:  that  is,  in  "the  sage  and 

solemn  tunes,"  or  poems,  of  the 

bards. 

113.  civil-suited,  sober-hued. 

1 14.  tricked,    dressed    out  ;     frounced, 

frizzled  and  curled. 

115.  the  Attic  boy.     The  allusion  is  to 

Ceph'alus,  who  was  beloved  by 
Eos,  the  goddess  of  the  dawn. 


62  MILTON. 

But  kerchiefed  *  in  a  comely  cloud, 

While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud ; 

Or  ushered  with  a  shower  still, 

When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 

Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves,  120 

With  minute-drops  from  off  the  eaves. 

And  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 

His  flaring  beams,*  me,  Goddess,  bring 

To  arche'd  walks  of  twilight  groves, 

And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves,  125 

Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak, 

Where  the  rude  axe,  with  heave'd  stroke, 

Was  never,  heard  the  Nymphs  to  daunt, 

Or  fright  them  from  their  hallowed  haunt. 

There,  in  close  covert  by  some  brook,  130 

Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 

Hide  me  from  day's  garish  *  eye, 

While  the  bee  with  honeyed  thigh, 

That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 

And  the  waters  murmuring,  135 

With  such  consort  as  they  keep, 

Entice  the  dewy-feathered  Sleep  ; 

And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 

Wave  at  his  wings  in  airy  stream 

Of  lively  portraiture  displayed,  140 

Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid. 


1 1 8.  still,  gentle. 

121.  minute.  This  is  not  the  adj. 
minute',  but  the  noun  min'ute 
— drops  at  brief  intervals,  as  it 
were  minute  by  minute. 

123.  flaring,  with  an  unsteady,  fluttering 
beam. 

125.  Sylvan  =  Sylvan  us,  a  woodland 
god  of  the  old  Latins. 

128.  Nymphs,  the  dryads,  or  "oak- 
nymphs." 

131.  profaner.     The  word  "profaner" 


means    somewhat  profane  —  a 

Latin  idiom. 
132.  garish,  dazzling. 
138-141.  And  let  some  strange  .  .  .  laid 

"  The  meaning  of  these  lines  is 
not  very  clear,  but  the  simplest 
interpretation  seems  to  be : 
'  Let  some  strange  mysterious 
dream  stir  the  wings  of  dewy- 
feathered  Sleep  (that  is,  give 
consciousness  to  my  sleep)  by 
displaying  to  my  inward  vision 


has  not  here  the  full  force  of  a  succession  of  vivid  images,' 

the    comparative    degree,   but  — Ross  :  Milton's  Poems. 


IL  PENSEROSO. 


And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  underneath, 
Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  good, 
Or  th'  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  *  pale,* 
And  love  the  high-embowed  roof, 
With  antic  pillars  massy*  proof, 
And  storied  windows  richly  dight,* 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light. 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow, 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below, 
In  service  high,  and  anthems  clear, 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 
And  bring  all  heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage  — 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell, 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell  * 
Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  shew, 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew  : 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures,  Melancholy,  give, 
And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 


150 


155 


165 


147.  studious  cloister's  pale.    The  word 

"  pale  "  signifies  enclosure,  and 
the  whole  expression  is  equiva- 
lent to  seat  of  learning. 

148.  high-oinlHwed,    lofty  -  vaulted,    or 

arched. 

149.  massy  proof,  proof  against  ( able 

to  bear)  the  mass  placed  upon 
them. 


150.  storied,  painted  with  stories,  or 
histories,  taken  from  Scripture. 
For  dight,  see  L1  Allegro,  note  to 
line  62. 

155.  As  =  such  as. 

159.  the,  not  definite  here,  but  equiva- 
lent to  some. 

161.  spell,  read,  study  out. 

164.  do;  subjunctive  mood. 


64  MILTON. 


III.— MILTON'S   PROSE. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  three  following  extracts  are  from  Milton's  great  dis- 
course called  "  Areopagitica:  a  Speech  for  the  Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Print- 
ing." It  is  a  plea,  the  grandest  ever  made,  for  the  freedom  of  the  press.  In 
explanation  of  the  circumstances  attending  its  composition,  it  may  be  stated 
that  in  1643  an  attempt  was  made  in  the  Long  Parliament  to  revive  the  sys- 
tem (which  had  for  some  years  been  in  abeyance)  of  book-censorship,  by 
which  no  work  could  be  brought  out  until  it  was  approved  and  licensed  by 
persons  designated  by  Parliament,  and  thence  called  licensers.  Against  the 
proposal  Milton  entered  this  eloquent  protest ;  and,  for  the  greater  effect,  he 
threw  it  into  the  form  of  a  Speech  addressed  to  the  Parliament,  though  it  was 
never  meant  to  be  delivered  in  the  ordinary  sense.  The  Areopagitica 1  was 
first  published  in  1644. 

"It  is  to  be  regretted,"  says  Macaulay,  "that  the  prose  writings  of  Milton 
should,  in  our  time,  be  so  little  read.  As  compositions,  they  deserve  the  attention 
of  every  one  who  wishes  to  become  acquainted  with  the  full  power  of  the 
English  language.  They  are  a  perfect  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  The  style 
is  stiff  with  gorgeous  embroidery.  Not  even  in  the  earlier  books  of  the  Para- 
dise Lost  has  he  ever  risen  higher  than  in  those  parts  of  his  controversial 
works  in  which  his  feelings,  excited  by  conflict,  find  a  vent  in  bursts  of  devo- 
tional and  lyric  rapture.  It  is,  to  borrow  his  own  majestic  language,  '  a  seven- 
fold chorus  of  hallelujahs  and  harping  symphonies.'"] 

I.— BOOKS   NOT  DEAD  THINGS. 

i.  I  deny  not  but  that  it  is  of  greatest  concernment,  in  the 
church  and  commonwealth,  to  have  a  vigilant  eye  how  books  de- 
mean *  themselves,  as  well  as  men  ;  and  thereafter  to  confine, 
imprison,  and  do  sharpest  justice  on  them  as  malefactors.  For 
books  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,  but  do  contain  a  potency  5 
of  life  in  them  to  be  as  active  as  that  soul  was  whose  progeny 
they  are ;  nay,  they  do  preserve  as  in  a  vial  the  purest  efficacy 

NOTES.  —  2,  3.  demean  themselves,  be-  i  6.  progeny,  offspring. 

have  themselves.  |  7.  efficacy,  power  to  produce  effects. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 2.  demean.  What  is  the  etymology  of  "demean?" 
Explain  its  incorrect  modern  use.  Is  demean  used  literally  or  metaphorical- 
ly ? — What  is  the  figure  ?  (See  Def.  22.) — What  subsequent  words  carry  out 
the  same  figure  ? 

3.  thereafter  to  confine.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

5-7.  but  do  contain  . . .  are.     Express  this  thought  in  your  own  language. 

1  The  name  Areopagitica  is  copied  from  the  "  Areopagitic  Discourse"  of  the 
Greek  orator  Isocrates.  Areopagitic  means  pertaining  to  the  Areopagus,  or 
High  Court  of  Athens. 


Ql/h 


MILTON'S  PROSE.  65 

and  extraction  of  that  living  intellect  that  bred  them.     I  know 
they  are  as  lively,  and  as  vigorously  productive,  as  those  fabulous 
dragon's  teeth ;  and,  being  sown  up  and  down,  may  chance  to  10 
spring  up  armed  men. 

2.  And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  unless  wariness  be  used,  as 
good  almost  kill  a  man  as  kill  a  good  book :  who  kills  a  man 
kills  a  reasonable*  creature,  God's  image;  but  he  who  destroys 
a  good  book  kills  reason  itself,  kills  the  image  of  God,  as  it  were,  15 
in  the  eye.    Many  a  man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth  ;  but  a  good 
book  is  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master-spirit,  embalmed  and 
treasured  up  or  purpose  to  a  life  beyond  life.     It  is  true,  no  age 
can  restore  a  life,  whereof,  perhaps,  there  is  no  great  loss ;  and 
revolutions  of  ages  do  not  oft  recover  the  loss  of  a  rejected  truth,  20 
for  the  want  of  which  whole  nations  fare  the  worse. 


8.  extraction.    In  this  sense  extract  is 

the  modern  form. 

9,  10.  those    fabulous    dragon's    teeth. 

According  to  the  fable,  Cadmus, 
having  killed  the  dragon  that 
watched  the  fountain  at  Thebes, 
in  Greece,  sowed  its  teeth,  which 
immediately  sprang  up  armed 
men.  A  similar  story  is  told  of 
Jason,  leader  of  the  Argonautic 
expedition. 


14.  reasonable,  rational. 

1 8.  on  purpose  to,  with  a  view  to. 

2O,  21.  revolutions  of  ages  .  .  .  fare  the 
worse.  Thus  it  required  "  the 
revolutions  of  ages  "  ("  age  " 
here  =  century)  before  the  wis- 
dom of  the  ancients,  lost  with 
the  ruin  of  the  Roman  Empire 
(fifth  century),  was  "recovered" 
at  the  revival  of  learning  in  the 
fifteenth  century. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  9.  as  lively,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
(See  Def.  19.) 

12.  wariness.     Give  two  or  more  synonyms  of  this  word. 

12,  13.  as  good  almost.     Supply  the  ellipsis. — What  does  "almost"  modify? 

14.  kills  a  reasonable  creature ;  but,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See 
Def.  18.) 

16.  in  the  eye.     What  is  the  force  of  this  expression  ? 

17.  precious  life-blood,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 
17,  1 8.  embalmed  and  treasured  up.     Is  there  any  improper  mixture  of  meta- 
phor here  ?   (See  Def.  20,  iii.)— a  life  beyond  life.     Explain  this  expression. 

19.  whereof.     Modernize  this  word. 

20.  oft.     Modernize  this  word. 


66  MILTON. 

3.  We  should  be  wary,  therefore,  what  persecution  we  raise 
against  the  living  labors  of  public  men,  how  we  spill  that  sea- 
soned life  of  man,  preserved  and  stored  up  in  books ;  since  we 
see  a  kind  of  homicide*  may  be  thus  committed,  sometimes  a 25 
martyrdom,*  and  if  it  extend  to  the  whole  impression,  a  kind  of 
massacre,*  whereof  the  execution  ends  not  in  the  slaying  of  an 
elemental  life,  but  strikes  at  the  ethereal  and  fifth  essence — the 
breath  of  reason  itself ;  slays  an  immortality  rather  than  a  life. 


II.— TRUTH. 

Truth  indeed  came  once  into  the  world  with  her  Divine  Mas-  3a 
ter,  and  was  a  perfect  shape  most  glorious  to  look  on  :  but  when 
he  ascended,  and  his  apostles  after  him  were  laid  asleep,  then 
straight  arose  a  wicked  race  of  deceivers,  who,  as  that  story  goes 


23.  spill,  destroy. 

27.  the  execution,  the  accomplishment. 

28.  elemental  life,  a  life,  or  being,  con- 

sisting merely  of  the  four  sup- 
posed elements  (earth,  water, 
air,  and  fire).  —  fifth  essence : 


this  is  a  translation  of  quintes-    33.  straight,  straightway. 


sence  (Lat.  qtiinta,  fifth,  and  es- 
sentia,  essence),  and  is  an  allu- 
sion to  the  doctrine  of  alchemy, 
in  which  the  "  fifth  essence  "  was 
the  highest  and  subtlest  poten- 
cy in  a  natural  body.1 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  22-29.  We  should  be  wary  ...  a  life.  What  kind 
of  sentence  is  this  grammatically?  What  are  the  principal  propositions? 
Point  out  the  dependent  propositions  (clauses). — What  kind  of  sentence  is 
this  rhetorically  ?  periodic  or  loose  ? 

25-27.  homicide  .  . .  martyrdom  .  .  .  massacre.  Give  the  etymology  of  each 
of  these  words.  What  figure  of  speech  is  this  passage  ?  (See  Def.  33.) 

22-29.  Substitute  synonyms  for  "  wary  "  (22) ;  "  labors  "  (23) ;  "  slaying  " 
(27). — Commit  this  sentence  to  memory. 

30.  Truth .  .  .  came,  etc.  What  combination  of  figures  of  speech  in  this 
sentence  ?  (See  Defs.  18,  22.) 


The  following  passage  in  Paradise  Lost  illustrates  these  expressions  : 

"  Swift  to  their  several  quarters  hasted  then 
The  cumbrous  element,  earth,  flood,  air,  fire; 
And  this  ethereal  quintessence  of  heaven 
Flew  upward." 


MILTON'S  PROSE.  67 

of  the  Egyptian  Typhon  with  his  conspirators,  how  they  dealt 
with  the  good  Osiris,  took  the  virgin  Truth,  hewed  her  lovely  35 
form   into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  scattered  them  to  the  four 
winds.    From  that  time  ever  since,  the  sad  friends  of  Truth,  such 
as  durst  appear,  imitating  the  careful  search  that  Isis  made  for 
the  mangled  body  of  Osiris,  went  up  and  down  gathering  up  limb 
by  limb  still  as  they  could  find  them.     We  have  not  yet  found  4° 
them  all,  lords  and  commons,  nor  ever  shall  do,  till  her  Master's 
second  coming ;  he  shall  bring  together  every  joint  and  member, 
and  shall  mould  them  into  an  immortal  feature*  of  loveliness 
and  perfection.     Suffer  not  these  licensing  prohibitions  to  stand 
at  every  place  of  opportunity,  forbidding  and  disturbing  them  45 
that  continue  seeking,  that  continue  to  do  our  obsequies*  to  the 
torn  body  of  our  martyred  saint. 


34,  35>  38.  Egyptian  Typhon  .  .  .  Osiris 

. . .  Isis.  Osiris  was  the  great 
Egyptian  divinity.  He  is  rep- 
resented as  being  originally 
King  of  Egypt ;  and  the  story 
runs  that,  being  murdered  by 
his  brother  Typhon,  who  cut 
his  body  into  pieces  and  threw 
them  into  the  Nile,  Isis,  the 
wife  of  Osiris,  discovered  the 
mangled  remains  after  a  long 
search. 

35.  the  good  Osiris.    While  a  king,  his 


life  was  devoted  to  the  good  of 
his  people. 

38.  careful,  anxious.  See  Luke  x. 
41. 

40.  still,  ever. 

41,  42.  her  Master's  second  coming.    See 

I  Thessalonians  iv.  16,  17. 

43.  feature,  form,  structure. 

46.  obsequies,  acts  of  worship  or  devo- 
tion. The  word  is  rather  from 
the  Lat.  obsequium,  dutiful  con- 
duct, than  from obsequiae  (=  exu- 
viae),  ftmeral  rites. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 37-40.  From  that  time  . . .  find  them.      What  kind 

of  sentence  is  this  rhetorically  ? 

37.  such.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  "  such  ?"— Of  "  as  ?" 
39,  40.  gathering  up  limb  by  limb.      What  is  the  figure   of  speech  ?     (See 

Def.  20.) 

42.  he  shall  bring.     What  is  the  force  of  "  shall "  here  ? 

43.  feature.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word. 

44-47.  to  stand  .  .  .  martyred  saint.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See 
Def.  22.) 

44-47.  Suffer  not . .  .  saint.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?  What 
two  adjective  clauses  are  adjuncts  to  "  them  ?" 


68 


MILTON. 


III.— A  NATION   IN  ITS   STRENGTH. 

1.  Lords  and  Commons  of  England !  consider  what  a  nation 
it  is  whereof  ye  are,  and  whereof  ye  are  the  governors — a  nation 
not  slow,  and  dull,  but  of  quick,  ingenious,  and  piercing  spirit  ;sc 
acute  to  invent,  subtile  *  and  sinewy  to  discourse,*  not  beneath 
the  reach  of  any  point  the  highest  that  human  capacity  can  soar 
to.     Therefore  the  studies  of  learning  in  her  deepest  sciences 
have  been  so  ancient  and  so  eminent  among  us  that  writers  of 
good   antiquity  and  able  judgment  have  been  persuaded  thatss 
even  the  school  of  Pythagoras  and  the  Persian  wisdom  took  be- 
ginning from  the  old  philosophy  of  this  island.     And  that  wise 
and  civil*  Roman,  Julius  Agricola,  who  governed  once  here  for 
Caesar,  preferred  the  natural  wits  of  Britain  before  the  labored 
studies  of  the  French.  60 

2.  Behold  now  this  vast  city — a  city  of  refuge,  the  mansion- 
house  of  Liberty — encompassed  and  surrounded  with  his  protec- 
tion ;  the  shop  of  war  hath  not  there  more  anvils  and  hammers 


49.  whereof  ye  are  =to  which  ye  be- 
long. 

51.  subtile,  keen,  discerning  ;  to  dis- 
course, to  reason. 

53.  the  studies.     We  should  now  use 

the  singular  number.  —  her. 
Learning  is  personified  as 
feminine  ;  and,  besides  this,  its 
was  scarcely  in  Milton's  time 
admitted  into  literary  English. 

54.  so  ancient,  etc.      The  reference  is 

to  the  ancient  British  (Celtic) 
learning  of  the  Druids,  previous 


to  the  Anglo-Saxon  invasion  in 
the  fifth  century  A.D. 

56.  Pythagoras,  a  Greek  philosopher, 
born  about  570  B.C. 

58.  civil,  civilized,  refined. 

58,  59.  Julius  Agricola  ...  for  Caesar. 
Agricola  was  Roman  governor 
of  Britain  from  78  to  85  A.D. 
He  governed  under  three  em- 
perors —  Vespasian,  Titus,  and 
Domitian  ;  but  all  the  emperors 
bore  the  name  of  Ccesar. 

62.  his.     See  note  on  line  53,  above. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 51.  Give  the  derivation  of  "subtile."  Discriminate 
between  subtile  and  subtle. 

51.  subtile  and  sinewy.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 

52,  53.  the  highest .  . .  soar  to.     To  what  noun  is  this  adjective  element  an 
adjunct  ? 

57-59.  And  that  wise  and  civil .  .  .  French.  Analyze  this  sentence. — preferred 
. .  .  before.  Modernize. 

61-70.  Behold  . .  .  convincement.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  and 
rhetorically  ? 

63.  the  shop  of  war.  What  word  now  signifies  a  place  where  arms  are 
manufactured  ? 


MILTON'S  PROSE.  69 

working,  to  fashion  out  the  plates  and  instruments  of  armed 
Justice  in  defence  of  beleaguered  Truth,  than  there  be  pens  and  65 
heads  there,  sitting  by  their  studious  lamps,  musing,  searching, 
revolving  new  notions  and  ideas  wherewith  to  present,  as  with 
their  homage  *  and  their  fealty,*  the  approaching  reformation : 
others  as  fast  reading,  trying  all  things,  assenting  to  the  force 
of  reason  and  convincement*  7o 

3.  What  could  a  man  require  more  from  a  nation  so  pliant 
and  so  prone  to  seek  after  knowledge  ?  What  wants  there  to 
such  a  towardly  and  pregnant  soil  but  wise  and  faithful  laborers 
to  make  a  knowing  people,  a  nation  of  prophets,  of  sages,  and 
of  worthies  ?  We  reckon  more  than  five  months  yet  to  harvest ;  75 
there  need  not  be  five  weeks,  had  we  but  eyes  to  lift  up :  the 
fields  are  white  already.  Where  there  is  much  desire  to  learn, 
there  of  necessity  will  be  much  arguing,  much  writing,  many 
opinions ;  for  opinion  in  good  men  is  but  knowledge  in  the  mak- 
ing. Under  these  fantastic  terrors  of  sect  and  schism,  we  wrong  80 
the  earnest  and  zealous  thirst  after  knowledge  and  understand- 
ing which  God  hath  stirred  up  in  this  city.  What  some  lament 
of,  we  rather  should  rejoice  at,  should  rather  praise  this  pious 
forwardness  among  men  to  re-assume  the  ill -deputed  care  of 


64.  plates,  breastplates,  and  here  used 

to  denote  defensive  armor  in 
general, just  as  "instruments" 
denotes  offensive  armor. 

65.  beleaguered,  besieged,  invested. 
70.  conyincement  —  conviction. 


Milton  probably  has  reference 
to  the  success  he  hoped  the 
Parliamentary  army  would  gain 
over  the  royal  army  under 
Charles  I.  in  the  campaign  of 
the  next  year  (1645). 


73.  towardly,  tractable,  compliant.  80.  fantastic:  that  is,  merely  fanciful. 

74.  a  nation  of  prophets.   See  Numbers    83.  of,  in  connection  with,  about,  over. 

xi.  29.  84.  re-assume.     The    modern  form  is 

75.  five  months,  etc.     See  John  iv.  35.  ;  resume. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 65,66.  there  be.  Modernize  this  form. — pens  and 
heads.  What  is  the  figure  ?  (See  Def.  29.)  Discriminate  between  "  homage  " 
and  "fealty."  (See  Glossary,  under  homage.} 

71-75.  what  could  a  man  .  .  .  worthies.  What  is  the  rhetorical  effect  obtained 
by  the  use  of  the  interrogative  form  in  these  two  sentences  ? — Point  out  an  in- 
stance of  alliteration  in  the  first  of  these  sentences. 

76.  had  we :  what  is  the  mood  of  the  verb  ? 

84,  85.  re-assume  .  .  .  again.     What  fault  may,  perhaps,  be  pointed  out  here  ? 


7o 


MILTON. 


their  religion  into  their  own  hands  again.     This  is  a  lively  and  85 
cheerful  presage  of  our  happy  success  and  victory.     For  as  in  a 
body  when  the  blood  is  fresh,  the  spirits*  pure  and  vigorous, 
not  only  to  vital,  but  to  rational  faculties,  and  those  in  the 
acutest  and  the  pertest*  operations  of  wit*  and  subtlety,  it 
argues  in  what  good  plight*  and  constitution  the  body  is;  so  90 
when  the  cheerfulness  of  the  people  is  so  sprightly  up  as  that  it 
has  not  only  wherewith  to  guard  well  its  own  freedom  and  safe- 
ty, but  to  spare,  and  to  bestow  upon  the  solidest  and  sublimest 
points  of  controversy  and  new  invention,  it  betokens  us  not  de- 
generated, nor  drooping  to  a  fatal  decay,  by  casting  off  the  old  95 
and  wrinkled  skin  of  corruption  to  outlive  these  pangs,  and  wax 
young  again,  entering  the  glorious  ways  of  truth  and  prosperous 
virtue,  destined  to  become  great  and  honorable  in  these  latter 
ages. 

4.  Methinks  *  I  see  in  my  mind  a  noble  and  puissant  nation  iooQ\ 
rousing  herself  like  a  strong  man  after  sleep,  and  shaking  her 
invincible  locks ;  methinks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle  mewing  *  her 
mighty  youth,  and  kindling  her  undazzled  eyes  at  the  full  mid- 
day beam,  purging  and  unsealing  her  long-abused  sight  at  the 


88.  not  only  to  =  not  only  in  regard  to. 

89.  pertest,  briskest,  liveliest. 

90.  plight,  condition. 

91.  sprightly.     The  word  is  here  used 

as  an  adverb  modifying  "  up," 


which     here     means     excited, 
.stirred  up. 
96.  wax,  become. 

1 02.  mewing,  renewing  by  moulting,  or 
shedding  feathers,  as  a  bird. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 85,  86.  lively  and  cheerful  presage.  Milton  frequent- 
ly uses  pairs  of  adjectives  and  nouns.  Sometimes  they  raise  different  images, 
and  at  other  times  the  second  merely  adds  emphasis.  Point  out  examples  in 
the  subsequent  parts  of  this  piece,  and  distinguish  between  double-imaged  and 
merely  emphatic  pairs. 

87.  the  spirits  pure.  Supply  the  ellipsis,  and  what  is  now  deemed  bad  gram- 
mar will  appear  ;  state  the  fault. 

91.  is  so  sprightly  up.     State  the  grammatical  construction  of  these  words. 

95.  by  casting  off.     From  what  is  the  metaphor  drawn  ? 

100-108.  Methinks  I  see  ...  schisms.  Point  out  the  two  similes.  Which  is 
the  grander? — Explain  "Methinks."  What  is  its  subject? — in  my  mind:  that 
is,  in  his  "mind's  eye,"  so  that  the  sentence  is  an  example  of  the  figure  vision. 
(See  Def.  24.)  The  whole  passage  fairly  glows  with  celestial  fire. — It  has  been 


MILTON'S  PROSE. 


71 


fountain  itself  of  heavenly  radiance ;  while  the  whole  noise  *  of  105 
timorous  and  flocking  birds,  with  those  also  that  love  the  twi- 
light, flutter  about,  amazed  at  what  she  means,  and  in  their  en- 
vious gabble  would  prognosticate  a  year  of  sects  and  schisms. 


105.  noise,  set,  company. 

106.  flocking  birds:  that  is,  those  that 

hover  about  in  companies — not 


"  lone-flying "    birds,  like    the 
eagle. 
1 08.  gabble,  meaningless  sounds. 


pointed  out  that  a  rhythmical  movement  pervades  this  passage,  the  character 
of  which  appears  from  the  following  division  : 

"  Methinks  I  see  in  my  mind  a  noble  and  puissant  nation 
Rousing  herself  like  a  strong  man  after  sleep, 
And  shaking  her  invincible  locks ; 

Methinks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle  mewing  her  mighty  youth, 
And  kindling  her  undazzled  eyes  at  the  full  mid-day  beam, 
Purging  and  unsealing  her  long-abused  sight 
At  the  fountain  itself  of  heavenly  radiance  ; 
While  the  whole  noise  of  timorous  and  flocking  birds. 
With  those  also  that  love  the  twilight, 
Flutter  about,  amazed  at  what  she  means, 
And  in  their  envious  gabble  would  prognosticate 
A  year  of  sects  and  schisms.1' 


IV. 

SAMUEL    BUTLER. 

1612-1680. 


HALLAM'S  CRITIQUE  ON  BUTLER'S  HUDIBRAS. 

i.  Hudibras  was  incomparably  more  popular  than  Paradise 
Lost :  no  poem  in  our  language  rose  at  once  to  greater  reputa- 
tion. Nor  can  this  be  called  ephemeral,  like  most  political 
poetry.  For  at  least  half  a  century  after  its  publication,  it  was 


HALLAM'S   CRITIQUE   ON  BUTLER'S  HUDIBRAS.       73 

generally  read  and  perpetually  quoted.  The  wit  of  Butler  has 
still  preserved  many  lines;  but  Hudibras  now  attracts  compar- 
atively few  readers.  The  eulogies  of  Johnson1  seem  rather 
adapted  to  what  he  remembered  to  have  been  the  fame  of  But- 
ler than  to  the  feelings  of  the  surrounding  generation;  and 
since  his  time  new  sources  of  amusement  have  sprung  up,  and 
writers  of  a  more  intelligible  pleasantry  have  superseded  those 
of  the  seventeenth  century. 

2.  In  the  fiction  of  Hudibras  there  was  never  much  to  divert 
the  reader,  and  there  is  still  less  left  at  present.  But  what  has 
been  censured  as  a  fault  —  the  length  of  dialogue,  which  puts 
the  fiction  out  of  sight — is,  in  fact,  the  source  of  all  the  pleasure 
that  the  work  affords.  The  sense  of  Butler  is  masculine,  his  wit 
inexhaustible,  and  it  is  supplied  from  every  source  of  reading 
and  observation.  But  these  sources  are  often  so  unknown  to 
the  reader  that  the  wit  loses  its  effect  through  the  obscurity  of 
its  allusions,  and  he  yields  to  the  bane  of  wit — a  purblind,  mole- 
like  pedantry.  His  versification  is  sometimes  spirited,  and  his 
rhymes  humorous ;  yet  he  wants  that  ease  and  flow  which  we 
require  in  light  poetry. 

1  "  The  poem  of  Hudibras  is  one  of  those  compositions  of  which  a  nation 
may  justly  boast ;  as  the  images  which  it  exhibits  are  domestic,  the  sentiments 
unborrowed  and  unexpected,  and  the  strain  of  diction  original  and  peculiar. 
...  If  inexhaustible  wit  could  give  perpetual  pleasure,  no  eye  could  ever 
leave  half  read  the  work  of  Butler ;  for  what  poet  has  ever  brought  so  many 
remote  images  so  happily  together  ?  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  peruse  a  page 
without  finding  some  association  of  images  never  found  before.  By  the  first 
paragraph  the  reader  is  amused,  by  the  next  he  is  delighted,  and  by  a  fe-sv 
more,  strained  to  astonishment." — DR.  JOHNSON  :  Lives  of  the  Poets^ 


74 


BUTLER. 


EXTRACTS    FROM   HUDIBRAS. 

[INTRODUCTION. — Hudibras  is  a  political  satire,  written  in  the  mock-heroic 
vein,  its  aim  being  to  ridicule  the  Puritans.  There  is,  properly  speaking,  no 
plot  in  the  poem.  Sir  Hudibras  and  his  squire  go  forth  to  stop  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  common  people,  against  which  the  Rump  Parliament  has  passed 
some  severe  laws.  "It  is,"  says  Angus,  "in  the  description  of  the  scenes  in 
which  they  mingle,  in  the  sketches  of  character,  and  in  the  most  humorous 
dialogue  in  which  the  two  heroes  indulge  that  the  power  of  the  book  consists." 

The  meter  is  iambic  tetrameter — that  is,  the  octosyllabic  line  of  the  legends 
of  the  Round  Table  and  of  the  old  Norman  romances — and  is  scanned  thus  : 
When  civ'-  |  il  dud'-  |  geon  first'  |  grew  high'.] 

I.— ACCOMPLISHMENTS  OF   HUDIBRAS. 

When  civil  dudgeon*  first  grew  high, 
And  men  fell  out  they  knew  not  why ; 
When  hard  words,  jealousies,  and  fears 
Set  folks  together  by  the  ears  ;  .  .  . 
When  gospel-trumpeter,  surrounded 
With  long-eared  rout,  to  battle  sounded; 


NOTES.  —  Line  i.  dudgeon,  fury.  By 
"  civil  dudgeon  "  is  meant  the 
civil  war  which  broke  out  in 
England  in  1642,  between  Par- 
liament and  Charles  I.  The 
parliamentarians,  in  general,  be- 
longed to  the  Puritan  or  Presby- 
terian sect ;  while  the  royalists, 
who  called  themselves  Cava- 
liers, were  Episcopalians.  The 
conduct  of  the  war  on  the  side 
of  Parliament  soon  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  who 
carried  it  to  a  successful  issue. 
Charles  I.  was  executed  in  1649, 
and  Cromwell  became  Lord 
Protector  of  England ;  but  the 
house  of  Stuart  was  restored  in 
1660  in  the  person  of  Charles 
II. 


2.  they  knew  not  why.  This  is,  of  course, 

a  royalist  view ;  the  stern  Puri- 
tans thought  they  knew  pretty 
well  "why"  they  "fell  out." 

3.  hard  words.    The  reference  is  to  the 

uncouth  religious  terms  em- 
ployed by  the  Presbyterians. 

5.  gospel-trumpeter.     The  reference  is 

to  the  Puritan  preachers,  who, 
by  their  denunciations  of  royal- 
ty and  episcopacy,  did  so  much 
to  bring  about  the  state  of  things 
that  precipitated  the  civil  war. 

6.  long-eared  rout.      "  Rout  "  =  crewv 

set.  The  Puritans  were  called, 
in  derision,  Roundheads,  on  ac- 
count of  their  practice  of  crop- 
ping their  hair  short — a  fashion 
which  "made  their  ears  appear 
to  greater  advantage." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  i-io.  When  civil .  .  .  a-colonelling.  What  kind  of 
sentence  is  this  rhetorically? — What  effect  is  gained  by  employing  the  term 
"  dudgeon,"  a  word  belonging  to  the  diction  of  burlesque  ? 


EXTRACTS  FROM  HUD  IB  R  AS. 

And  pulpit,  drum  ecclesiastic, 
Was  beat  with  fist  instead  of  a  stick ; 
Then  did  Sir  Knight  abandon  dwelling, 
And  out  he  rode  a-colonelling. 

A  wight*  he  was,  whose  very  sight  would 
Entitle  him  mirror  of  knighthood, 
That  never  bowed  his  stubborn  knee 
To  anything  but  chivalry, 
Nor  put  up  blow  but  that  which  laid 
Right  worshipful  on  shoulder-blade. 
****** 
We  grant,  although  he  had  much  wit, 
H'  was  very  shy  of  using  it, 
As  being  loath  to  wear  it  out, 
And  therefore  bore  it  not  about, 
Unless  on  holidays  or  so, 
As  men  their  best  apparel  do. 


75 


7.  drum  ecclesiastic.  Alluding  to  the 
vehement  action  of  the  Presby- 
terian preachers  in  the  pulpit, 
which  they  were  in  the  habit 
of  pounding  vigorously. 

9, 10.  Sir  Knight .  . .  a-colonelling.  "Sir 
Knight"  is  Sir  Hudibras,  the 
hero  of  the  poem.  The  original 
is  supposed  to  have  been  Sir 
Samuel  Lake,  in  whose  family 
Butler  lived  for  some  time  after 
the  civil  war,  and  who  was  a 


colonel  in  the  Parliamentary 
army. 

ii.  wight,  person. 

13,  14.  That  neyer  .  .  .  chivalry:  that  is, 
he  knelt  to  the  king  when  he 
knighted  him,  but  on  no  other 
occasion, 

15, 1 6.  Nor  put  up  blow. . .  shoulder-blade. 
"  Put  up  "=  put  up  with.  The 
reference  is  to  the  blow  the 
king  laid  on  his  shoulder  with 
a  sword  when  he  was  knighted. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 7.  drum  ecclesiastic.  What  figure  is  "  drum  ?"  (See 
Def.  20.) — Observe  the  mock-majesty  of  placing  the  epithet  after  the  noun. 

7,  8.  ecclesiastic  ...  a  stick.  It  will  be  noted  that  each  of  these  lines  con- 
tains a  redundant  syllable ;  or,  in  the  language  of  prosody,  they  are  hyper- 
meters. — The  speaking  of  "a  stick"  as  one  word  with  the  stress  upon  a 
heightens  the  burlesque  effect. 

ii.  wight.  Does  this  word  belong  to  the  grave  or  the  burlesque  style? 
What  term  would  probably  be  used  in  the  grave  style  ? 

13.  stubborn  knee.     Why  "  stubborn  ?" 

19.  to  wear  it  out.  Observe  how  the  image  suggested  by  this  phrase  is 
carried  out  in  the  simile  in  the  last  part  of  the  sentence. 


76 


BUTLER. 


Besides,  'tis  known  he  could  speak  Greek 
As  naturally  as  pig|\Squeak ; 
That  Latin  was  no  more  difficile 
Than  to  a  blackbird  'tis  to  whistle 
Being  rich  in  both,  he  never  scanted 
His  bounty  unto  such  as  wanted ; 
But  much  of  either  would  afford 
To  many  that  had  not  one  word. 
***** 
He  was  in  logic  a  great  critic, 
Profoundly  skilled  in  analytic. 
He  could  distinguish  and  divide 
A  hair  'twixt  south  and  south-west  side ; 
On  either  which  he  would  dispute, 
Confute,  change  hands,  and  still  confute. 
He'd  undertake  to  prove  by  force 
Of  argument  a  man's  no  horse ; 
He'd  prove  a  buzzard  is  no  fowl, 
And  that  a  lord  may  be  an  owl ; 


35 


25.  difficile  (pronounced  diffic'ile\  diffi- 
cult. 

30.  had  not  one  word:  that  is,  did  not 
know  one  word  of  Greek  or 
Latin. 

32.  analytic.  "  Analytic  method  takes 
the  whole  compound  as  it  finds 
it,  whether  it  be  a  species  or  an 
individual,  and  leads  us  into  the 
knowledge  of  it  by  resolving  it 
into  its  principles  or  parts,  its 


generic  nature  and  special  prop- 
erties :  this  is  called  the  method 
of  resolution."  —  DR.  WATTS  : 
Logic. 

33,34.  He  could  .  .  .  south-west  side. 
The  reference  is  to  the  subtle 
distinctions  made  by  the  class 
of  philosophers  called  school- 
men. 

36.  change  hands:  that  is,  take  the 
other  side  of  the  argument. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 23-26.  Besides  . . .  whistle.  Point  out  the  two  lu- 
dicrous comparisons  in  this  sentence. — How  is  the  ridiculous  effect  heightened 
by  the  rhymes  ? 

34.  A  hair  'twixt  south,  etc.  What  term,  expressing  the  idea  in  this  sentence, 
do  we  often  apply  to  a  person  who  makes  needlessly  fine  distinctions  ? 

40.  a  lord  may  be  an  owl.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  20.) 
What  is  the  effect  intended?  (See  Def.  27.) 


EXTRACTS  FROM  HUDIBRAS. 

A  calf  an  alderman,  a  goose  a  justice, 

And  rooks  committee-men  and  trustees. 

He'd  run  in  debt  by  disputation, 

And  pay  with  ratiocination. 

All  this  by  syllogism,  true 

In  mood  and  figure,  he  would  do. 

For  rhetoric,  he  could  not  ope 

His  mouth  but  out  there  flew  a  trope ; 

And  when  he  happened  to  break  off 

I'  th'  middle  of  his  speech,  or  cough, 

H'  had  hard  words  ready  to  show  why, 

And  tell  what  rules  he  did  it  by; 

Else,  when  with  greatest  art  he  spoke, 

You'd  think  he  talked  like  other  folk ; 

For  all  a  rhetorician's  rules 

Teach  nothing  but  to  name  his  tools. 

But  when  he  pleased  to  show  't,  his  speech 

In  loftiness  of  sound  was  rich — 

A  Babylonish  dialect 

Which  learned  pedants  *  much  affect : 


77 


45 


55 


6fl 


42.  committee-men.  During  the  English 
civil  war  there  were  formed,  in 
several  counties  siding  with  Par- 
liament, committees  composed 
of  such  men  as  were  for  the 
"good  cause,"  as  it  was  called. 

44.  ratiocination,  formal  reasoning. 

45-  syllogism,  the  regular  logical  form 
of  every  argument,  consisting 
of  three  propositions,  of  which 
the  first  two  are  called/ 
and  the  last  the  conclusion. 


46.  In  mood  and  figure.     "  Mood  "  and 

"figure"  have  reference  to  the 
nature  and  the  order  of  the 
three  propositions  in  a  syllo- 
gism. 

47.  ope  =  open. 

48.  trope,  a  certain  class  of  figures  of 

speech,  as  metaphor,  synecdo- 
che, etc. 

59.  Babylonish  dialect,  the  sort  of  jargon 
spoken  at  Babel  after  the  con- 
fusion of  tongues. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 41,  42.  A  calf.  . .  trustees.  Supply  the  ellipsis  in 
these  lines. 

47-56.  What  two  passages  in  this  sentence  are  familiar  quotations  ?  Is  it 
true  that  the  rules  of  sound  rhetoric  teach  one  "nothing  but  to  name  his 
tools  ?"  Do  they  not  also  teach  how  to  handle  these  tools  ? 

59.  dialect.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  "  dialect  ?" 


BUTLER. 

It  was  a  parti-colored  dress 

Of  patched  and  piebald  *  languages  ; 

'Twas  English  cut  on  Greek  and  Latin, 

Like  fustian  *  heretofore  on  satin. 

It  had  an  odd  promiscuous  tone, 

As  if  h'  had  talked  three  parts  in  one ; 

Which  made  some  think  when  he  did  gabble 

H'  had  heard  three  laborers  of  Babel, 

Or  Cerberus*  himself  pronounce 

A  leash  of  languages  at  once. 

This  he  as  volubly  would  vent 

As  if  his  stock  would  ne'er  be  spent ; 

And  truly  to  support  that  charge, 

He  had  supplies  as  vast  and  large ; 


61.  parti-colored,  colored  part  by  part, 

having  various  tints  and  colors. 

62.  piebald,  diversified  in  color. 

63.  English  .  .  .  Latin.      The   leading 

men  of  those  times  were  fond 
of  appearing  learned,  and  com- 
monly mixed  Latin  and  even 
Greek  terms  and  phrases  with 
their  speech.  This  was  es- 
pecially the  case  with  the  coun- 
try justices,  of  whom  Hudibras 
was  one. 

64.  Like  fustian  . .  .  satin :  that  is,  like 

the  fashion  which  formerly 
( "  heretofore  " )  prevailed  of 
pinking  or  cutting  holes  in 


fustian  (a  coarse  twilled  cotton 
stuff),  that  the  satin  in  a  gar- 
ment might  appear  through  it. 
66.  three  parts.  The  expression  al- 
ludes to  the  old  musical  catches 
in  three  parts. 

69.  Cerberus,  the  three-headed  dog  at 

the  entrance  to  Hades. 

70.  leash,   literally    a    rope.      In    the 

technical  language  of  hunting, 
it  signifies  three  greyhounds, 
or  three  creatures  of  any  kind, 
the  hounds  in  hunting  having 
been  in  former  times  held  with 
a  rope  or  string. 
73.  charge,  burden,  duty. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 61.  It  was  ...  dress.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
(See  Def.  20.) 

63,  64.  Observe  how  the  specific  illustrations  in  these  lines  carry  out  the 
general  idea  in  lines  61  and  62. 

64.  Like  fustian,  etc.     Explain  the  comparison. 

69.  What  apposite  classical  reference  is  made  in  this  line  ? 


EXTRACTS  FROM  HUD  IB  R  AS. 

For  he  could  coin  or  counterfeit 
New  words,  with  little  or  no  wit — 
Words  so  debased  and  hard,  no  stone 
Was  hard  enough  to  touch  them  on ; 
And  when  with  hasty  noise  he  spoke  'em, 
The  ignorant  for  current  took  'em, 
That  had  the  orator  who  once 
Did  fill  his  mouth  with  pebble-stones 
When  he  harangued  but  known  his  phrase, 
He  would  have  used  no  other  ways. 
In  mathematics  he  was  greater 
Than  Tycho  Brahe  or  Erra  Pater ; 
For  he,  by  geometric  scale, 
Could  take  the  size  of  pots  of  ale ; 
Resolve  by  sines  and  tangents,  straight, 
If  bread  or  butter  wanted  weight ; 
And  wisely  tell  what  hour  o'  th'  day 
The  clock  does  strike,  by  algebra. 


79 


75 


75,  76.  he  could  .  . .  words.     The  Pres- 

byterians coined  a  great  num- 
ber, such  as  out-goings,  carry- 
ings-on, workings-out,  gospel- 
walking-times,  etc. 

76,  wit,  sense. 

8 1,  82.  the  orator . . .  pebble-stones.  The 
allusion  is  to  Demosthenes,who, 
to  remedy  a  defect  in  his  articu- 
lation, put  pebble-stones  in  his 
mouth  while  practising  in  speak- 
ing. 

77,  78,  80.  no  stone . . .  touch  them  on ... 

current.     The  meaning  is  that 

.  there  was  no  touchstone  (a  stone 

on  which  gold  and  silver  were 

tested)  fit  to  test  these  "  new 


words,"  these  counterfeits. 
They  therefore  passed  as  "  cur- 
rent," that  is,  as  current  coin, 
currency. 

83.  his  phrase:  that  is,  Hudibras's  dic- 
tion. 

86.  Tycho  Brahe  (1546-1601),  an  emi- 
nent Danish  astronomer.  By 
Erra  Pater  (the  name  of  an  old 
astrologer)  is  meant  William 
Lilly,  also  an  astrologer  and  a 
contemporary  of  Butler's. 

88.  Could  . . .  ale.     As  a  justice  of  the 

peace  he  had  a  right  to  inspect 
weights  and  measures. 

89.  sines  and  tangents,  terms  of  trigo- 

nometry. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  75-80.  For  he  could  coin  . . .  took  'em.  Show  the 
felicitous  manner  in  which  the  metaphor  in  this  passage  is  carried  out. 

85-92.  In  mathematics  .  .  .  algebra.  By  what  device  does  the  author  contrive 
to  convey  an  exceedingly  ludicrous  idea  of  Hudibras's  mathematical  attain- 
ments ? 


80  BUTLER. 

Besides,  he  was  a  shrewd  philosopher 

And  had  read  every  text  and  gloss  over— 

Whate'er  the  crabbed'st  author  hath  95 

He  understood  b'  implicit  faith ; 

Whatever  sceptic  could  inquire  for, 

For  every  why  he  had  a  wherefore; 

Knew  more  than  forty  of  them  do, 

As  far  as  words  and  terms  could  go ;  100 

All  which  he  understood  by  rote, 

And  as  occasion  served  would  quote : 

No  matter  whether  right  or  wrong, 

They  might  be  either  said  or  sung. 

His  notions  fitted  things  so  well  105 

That  which  was  which  he  could  not  tell, 

But  oftentimes  mistook  the  one 

For  th'  other,  as  great  clerks  have  done. 

He  could  reduce  all  things  to  acts, 

And  knew  their  natures  by  abstracts  ;  «a 

Where  entity  and  quiddity, 

The  ghosts  of  defunct  bodies,  fly ; 

Where  Truth  in  person  does  appear, 

Like  words  congealed  in  northern  air. 

94.  gloss,  a  commentary.  j  in.  entity  and  quiddity.     The   school- 

95-  crabbed'st  author:  that  is,  the  au    |  men  made  fine  distinctions  be- 

thor  the   most  difficult  to  be  ]  tween  "entity"   (essence)  and 

understood.  "  quiddity  "  (nature),  on  the  one 


108.  clerics,  learned  men. 

109,  no.  He  could  reduce  .  .  .  abstracts. 

"  Acts,"  general  notions  ;  "ab- 


hand,  and  substance  on  the 
other.  The  former  two  might 
remain  when  body  had  perished, 


stracts,"  the  results  of  the  proc-  and   hence   they   were   termed 

ess  of  abstraction.  The  old  phi-  "  the  ghosts  of  defunct  bodies." 

losophers  pretended  to  extract  \  114.  words  congealed  ...  air.   The  refer- 

notions  or  ideas  out  of  things,  I  ence  is  to  a  humorous  account, 


as  chemists  extract  spirits  and 


essences. 


published  in  Butler's  time,  of 
words  freezing  in  Nova  Zembla. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 93,  94.  Point  out  the  hypermeters  in  these  lines. 

109-116.  He  could  .  .  .  fly.  Point  out  the  skilful  manner  in  which  Butler  sat- 
irizes the  philosophy  of  the  schoolmen. 

1 1  i-i  14.  Where  entity,  etc.  Of  what  verb  understood  are  these  two  clauses 
the  objects  ? 

1 14.  Like  words  ...  air.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  19.) 


EXTRACTS  FROM  HUD  IB  R  AS. 


8l 


He  knew  what's  what,  and  that's  as  high 

As  metaphysic  wit*  can  fly. 

In  school  divinity  as  able 

As  he  that  hight  *  irrefragable ; 

A  second  Thomas,  or,  at  once 

To  name  them  all,  another  Dunce ; 

Profound  in  all  the  nominal 

And  real  ways  beyond  them  all ; 

For  he  a  rope  of  sand  could  twist 

As  tough  as  learned  Sorbonist, 

And  weave  fine  cobwebs  fit  for  skull 

That's  empty  when  the  moon  is  full— 

Such  as  take  lodgings  in  a  head 

That's  to  be  let  unfurnished. 


J'5 


125 


Il6.  metaphysic  vrit,   intellectual    acu- 
men. 
117   school  divinity,  theology. 

1 1 8.  hight,  called. — irrefragable.      The 

reference  is  to  Alexander  Hales 
(an  English  philosopher  of  the 
I3th  century),  who  was  so  deep- 
ly read  in  what  was  termed 
school  divinity  that  he  was 
called  "  Doctor  Irrefragabilis," 
or  the  Irrefragable  Doctor. 

119.  A  second  Thomas.    Thomas  Aqui- 

nas (1224-1274),  a  schoolman, 
was  one  of  the  most  learned 
men  of  his  time. 

1 20.  Dunce.       Reference    is    made    to 

Duns  Scotus,  a  learned  scholas- 
tic theologian,  born  in  Dunse 
(Scotland),  and  died  1308.  The 
English  word  dunce  is  derived 


from  his  name,  and  acquired  its 
opprobrious  meaning  from  its 
having  been  used  as  a  term  of 
reproach  by  his  antagonists, 
who  were  the  followers  of 
Thomas  Aquinas. 

121,  122.  nominal  and  real  way:  that  is, 
the  ways  of  the  nominalists  and 
realists,two  antagonistic  schools 
into  which  the  mediaeval  meta- 
physicians were  divided. 

124.  Sorbonist,  a  member  of  the  cele- 

brated French  college  of  the 
Sorbonne,  founded  in  the  reign 
of  St.  Louis  by  Robert  Sorbon. 

125,  126.  fit  for  skull . . .  full.     It  was 

an  old  notion  that  lunatics  (luna, 
the  moon)  were  liable  to  be  cra- 
zier than  common  at  the  full  of 
the  moon. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  117-128.  In  school  divinity  .  . .  unfurnished.  Point 
out  any  satirical  expressions  in  this  description  of  the  theology  of  the  school- 
men. 

125.  weave  fine  cobwebs.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 
127,  128.  in  a  head . . .  unfurnished.     Explain  this  expression. 

6 


82 


BUTLER. 


II.—  RELIGION   OF   HUDIBRAS. 

For  his  religion,  it  was  fit 

To  match  his  learning  and  his  wit  : 

'Twas  Presbyterian  true  blue  ; 

For  he  was  of  that  stubborn  crew 

Of  errant  *  saints,  whom  all  men  grant 

To  be  the  true  church  militant  — 

Such  as  do  build  their  faith  upon 

The  holy  text  of  pike  and  gun  ; 

Decide  all  controversies  by 

Infallible  artillery  ; 

And  prove  their  doctrine  orthodox 

By  apostolic  blows  and  knocks  ; 

Call  fire  and  sword  and  desolation 

A  godly  thorough  reformation, 

Which  always  must  be  carried  on, 

And  still  be  doing,  never  done  ; 

As  if  religion  were  intended 

For  nothing  else  but  to  be  mended— 

A  sect  whose  chief  devotion  lies 

In  odd  perverse  antipathies  ; 

In  falling  out  with  that  or  this, 

And  finding  somewhat  still  amiss  ; 

More  peevish,  cross,  and  splenetic 

Than  dog  distract  or  monkey  sick  ; 

That  with  more  care  keep  holiday 

The  wrong,  than  others  the  right,  way  ; 

Compound  for  sins  they  are  inclined  to 

By  damning  those  they  have  no  mind  to. 

Still  so  perverse  and  opposite, 

As  if  they  worshipped  God  for  spite  ; 


,3C 


135 


145 


£50 


155 


133-  errant  saints :  that  is,  the  Presby- 
terians. 

147-170.  A  sect . .  .  nose.  The  relig- 
ion of  the  Presbyterians  in  those 
times  was  accused  of  consisting 
principally  in  an  opposition  to 


the  Church  of  England  and  to 
its  most  innocent  customs,  as, 
for  example,  the  eating  of  Christ- 
mas pies  and  plum  porridge  at 
Christmas,which  they  (the  Pres- 
byterians) deemed  sinful. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  HUD  IB  R  AS.  83 

The  self-same  thing  they  will  abhor 

One  way,  and  long  another  for :  160 

Free-will  they  one  way  disavow, 

Another  nothing  else  allow ; 

All  piety  consists  therein 

In  them,,  in  other  men  all  sin  ; 

Rather  than  fail,  they  will  defy  i&s 

That  which  they  love  most  tenderly  ; 

Quarrel  with  minced  pies,  and  disparage 

Their  best  and  dearest  friend — plum  porridge  ; 

Fat  pig  and  goose  itself  oppose, 

And  blaspheme  custard  through  the  nose.  170 

Th'  apostles  of  this  fierce  religion, 

Like  Mahomet's,  were  ass  and  widgeon, 

To  whom  our  knight,  by  fast  instinct 

Of  wit  and  temper,  was  so  linked, 

As  if  hypocrisy  and  nonsense  i75 

Had  got  th'  advowson  of  his  conscience. 


172.  were  ass  and  widgeon.   The  author  j  geon"  (pidgeon)   which  figure 

intends  to  stigmatize  the  Pres-  j  in  the  history  of  Mahomet. 


byterians  as  foolish  persons ; 
but  the  words  also  contain  an 
allusion  to  a  mule  and  a  "  wid- 


1 76.  advowson  of  his  conscience :  that  is, 
the  patronage  or  the  control  of 
his  conscience. 


V. 

JOHN    BUNYAN. 
1628-1688. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  TAINE.1 

i.  After  the  Bible,  the  book  most  widely  read  in  England  is 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  by  John  Bunyan.  The  reason  is  that  the 
basis  of  Protestantism  is  the  doctrine  of  salvation  by  grace,  and 

1  History  of  English  Literature,  by  H.  A.  Taine,  translated  by  Van  Laun, 
vol.  i.  p.  398  et  seq. 


TA INK'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  BUNYAN.  85 

that  no  writer  has  equalled  Bunyan  in  making  this  doctrine  un- 
derstood. 

2.  To  treat  well  of  supernatural  impressions,  one  must  have 
been  subject  to  them.     Bunyan  had  that  kind  of  imagination 
which  produces  them.     Powerful  as  that  of  an  artist,  but  more 
vehement,  this  imagination  worked  in  the  man  without  his  co- 
operation, and  besieged  him  with  visions  which  he  had  neither 
willed  nor  foreseen.     From  that  moment  there  was  in  him,  as  it 
were,  a  second  self,  dominating  the  first,  grand  and  terrible,  whose 
apparitions  were  sudden;  its  motions  unknown;  which  redoubled 
or  crushed  his  faculties,  prostrated  or  transported  him,  bathed 
him  in  the  sweat  of  anguish,  ravished  him  with  trances  of  joy ; 
and  which  by  its  force,  strangeness,  independence,  impressed 
upon  him  the  presence  and  the  action  of  a  foreign  and  superior 
master. 

3.  Bunyan  was  born  in  the  lowest  and  most  despised  rank,  a 
tinker's  son ;  himself  a  wandering  tinker,  with  a  wife  as  poor  as 
himself,  so  that  they  had  not  a  spoon  or  a  dish  between  them. 
He  had  been  taught  in  childhood  to  read  and  write,  but  he  had 
since  "  almost  wholly  lost  what  he  had  learned."     Education 
draws  out  and  disciplines  a  man;  fills  him  with  varied  and  ra- 
tional ideas ;  prevents  him  from  sinking  into  monomania,  or  be- 
ing excited  by  transport ;  gives  him  determinate  thoughts  instead 
of  eccentric  fancies,  pliable  opinions  for  fixed  convictions ;  re- 
places impetuous  images  by  calm  reasonings,  sudden  resolves  by 
results  of  reflection ;  furnishes  us  with  the  wisdom  and  ideas  of 
others ;  gives  us  conscience  and  self-command.     Suppress  this 
reason  and  this  discipline,  and  consider  the  poor  workingman  at 
his  work.     His  head  works  while  his  hands  work — not  ably,  with 
methods  acquired  from  any  logic  he  might  have  mustered,  but 
with  dark  emotions,  beneath  a  disorderly  flow  of  confused  images. 
Morning  and  evening,  the  hammer  which  he  uses  in  his  trade 
drives  in  with  its  deafening  sounds  the  same  thought,  perpetu- 
ally returning  and  self-communing.    A  troubled,  obstinate  vision 
floats  before  him  in  the  brightness  of  the  hammered  and  quiver- 
ing metal.     In  the  red  furnace  where  the  iron  is  bubbling,  in  the 
clang  of  the  hammered  brass,  in  the  black  corners  where  the 
damp  shadow  creeps,  he  sees  the  flame  and  darkness  of  hell,  and 
hears  the  rattling  of  eternal  chains.     Next  day  he  sees  the  same 


86  BUN  VAN. 

image;  the  day  after,  the  whole  week,  month,  year.  During  his 
long  solitary  wanderings  over  wild  heaths,  in  cursed  and  haunted 
bogs,  always  abandoned  to  his  own  thoughts,  the  inevitable  idea 
pursues  him.  These  neglected  roads  where  he  sticks  in  the 
mud ;  these  sluggish  rivers  which  he  crosses  on  the  cranky  ferry- 
boat; these  threatening  whispers  of  the  woods  at  night,  where  in 
perilous  places  the  livid  moon  shadows  out  ambushed  forms — all 
that  he  sees  and  hears  falls  into  an  involuntary  poem  around 
the  one  absorbing  idea.  Thus  it  changes  into  a  vast  body  of 
sensible  legends,  and  multiplies  its  power  as  it  multiplies  its  de- 
tails. 

4.  Having  become  a  dissenter,  Bunyan  is  shut  up  for  twelve 
years,  having  no  other  amusement  than  the  Book  of  Martyrs  and 
the  Bible,  in  one  of  those  infectious  prisons  where  the  Puritans 
rotted  under  the  Restoration.     There  he  is,  still  alone,  thrown 
back  upon  himself  by  the  monotony  of  his  dungeon,  besieged 
with  the  terrors  of  the  Old  Testament,  by  the  vengeful  outpour- 
ings or  denunciations  of  the  prophets,  by  the  thunder-striking 
words  of  Paul,  by  the  spectacle  of  trances  and  of  martyrs,  face  to 
face  with  God ;  now  in  despair,  now  consoled  ;  troubled  with  in- 
voluntary images  and  unlooked-for  emotions,  seeing  alternately 
devil  and  angels,  the  actor  and  the  witness  of  an  internal  drama, 
whose  vicissitudes  he  is  able  to  relate.     He  writes  them  —  it  is 
his  book.     You  see  now  the  condition  of  this  inflamed  brain. 
Poor  in  ideas,  full  of  images,  given  up  to  a  fixed  and  single 
thought,  plunged  into  this  thought  by  his  mechanical  pursuit,  by 
his  prison  and  his  readings,  by  his  knowledge  and  his  ignorance, 
circumstances,  like  nature,  make  him  a  visionary  and  an  artist, 
furnish  him  with  supernatural  impressions  and  sensible  images, 
teaching  him  the  history  of  grace  and  the  means  of  expressing  it. 

5.  Allegory,  the  most  artificial  kind,  is  natural  to  Bunyan.     If 
he  employs  it  throughout,  it  is  from  necessity,  not  choice.     As 
children,  countrymen,  and  all  uncultivated  minds,  he  transforms 
arguments  into  parables ;  he  only  grasps  truth  when  it  is  made 
simple  by  images;  abstract  terms  elude  him;  he  must  touch 
forms,  and  contemplate  colors.      His  repetitions,  embarrassed 
phrases,  familiar  comparisons,  his  frank  style,  whose  awkward-, 
ness  recalls  the  childish  periods  of  Herodotus,  and  whose  light- 
heartedness  recalls  tales  for  children,  prove  that  if  his  work  is 


TAINE'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  BUNYAN.  87 

allegorical,  it  is  so  in  order  that  it  may  be  intelligible,  and  that 
Bunyan  is  a  poet  because  he  is  a  child. 

6.  Again,  under  his  simplicity  you  will  find  power,  and  in  his 
puerility  intuition.     These  allegories  are  hallucinations  as  clear, 
complete,   and   sound   as  ordinary  perceptions.      No  one  but 
Spenser  is  so  lucid.     He  distinguishes  and  arranges  all  the 
parts  of  the  landscape — here  the  river,  on  the  right  the  castle, 
a  flag  on  its  left  turret,  the  setting  sun  three  feet  lower,  an  oval 
cloud  in  the  front  part  of  the  sky — with  the  preciseness  of  a  car- 
penter.    Dialogues  flow  from  his  pen  as  in  a  dream.     He  does 
not  seem  to  be  thinking;  we  should  even  say  that  he  was  not 
himself  there.     Events  and  speeches  seem  to  grow  and  dispose 
themselves  within  him  independently  of  his  will.     Nothing,  as  a 
rule,  is  colder  than  are  the  characters  in  an  allegory.     His  are 
living.     Looking  upon  these  details,  so  small  and  familiar,  illu- 
sion gains  upon  us.     Giant  Despair,  a  simple  abstraction,  be- 
comes as  real  in  his  hands  as  an  English  jailer  or  farmer. 

7.  Bunyan  has  the  freedom,  the  tone,  the  ease,  and  the  clear- 
ness of  Homer.     He  is  as  close  to  Homer  as  an  Anabaptist 
tinker  could  be  to  an  heroic  singer,  a  creator  of  gods.    I  err ;  he 
is  nearer :  before  the  sentiment  of  the  sublime,  inequalities  are 
levelled.     The  depth  of  emotion  raises  peasant  and  poet  to  the 
same  eminence ;  and  here,  also,  allegory  stands  the  peasant  in 
stead.     It  alone,  in  the  absence  of  ecstasy,  can  paint  heaven ; 
for  it  does  not  pretend  to  paint  it.     Expressing  it  by  a  figure,  it 
declares  it  invisible  as  a  glowing  sun  at  which  we  cannot  look 
full,  and  whose  image  we  observe  in  a  mirror  or  a  stream.     The 
ineffable  world  thus  retains  all  its  mystery.     Warned  by  the  al- 
legory, we  imagine  splendors  beyond  all  which  it  presents  to  us. 

8.  Bunyan  was  imprisoned  for  twelve  years  and  a  half.    In  his 
dungeon  he  made  laces  to  support  himself  and  his  family.     He 
died  at  the  age  of  sixty  in  1688.     At  the  same  time,  Milton  lin- 
gered obscure  and  blind.     The  last  two  poets  of  the  Reforma- 
tion thus  survived  amid  the  classical  coldness  which  then  dried 
up  English  literature,  and  the  social  excess  which  then  corrupted 
English  morals. 


88 


BUNYAN. 


THE   GOLDEN   CITY. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extract  forms  the  last  chapter  of  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  characterized  by  Macaulay  as  "  the  only  work  of  its  kind 
[the  allegorical]  which  possesses  a  strong  human  interest."  The  full  title  of 
the  work  is,  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  from  this  World  to  that  which  is  to  Come, 
delivered  under  the  Similitude  of  a  Dream.  It  was  written  by  Bunyan  while 
imprisoned  in  Bedford  (England)  jail,  where  he  was  confined  for  more  than 
twelve  years  (1660-1672)  for  holding  religious  meetings  at  which  he  preached 
as  a  dissenting  minister.  The  first  edition  of  the  first  part  of  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress  was  published  in  1678.  The  subsequent  editions  of  the  Progress 
have  been  innumerable,  and  it  is  said  to  have  been  translated  into  more  lan- 
guages than  any  other  book  except  the  Bible.] 

T.  Now  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  by  this  time  the  pilgrims* 
were  got  over  the  Enchanted  Ground;  and,  entering  into  the 
country  of  Beulah,  whose  air  was  very  sweet  and  pleasant,  the 
way  lying  directly  through  it,  they  solaced  themselves  there  for  a 
season.  Yea,  here  they  heard  continually  the  singing  of  birds,  5 


NOTES.  —  Line  I.  in  my  dream.  The 
whole  "progress,"  or  journey, 
of  the  Pilgrim  is  represented  by 
Bunyan  "  under  the  similitude 
of  a  dream."  (See  Pilgrim'1  s 
Progress,  chap,  i.) 

2.  Enchanted  Ground.  In  the  geogra- 
phy of  the  Pilgrim  the  Enchant- 
ed Ground  lies  immediately  be- 
yond the  Delectable  Mountains, 
before  which  are,  successively, 


Doubting  Castle,  the  town  of 
Vanity,  the  Valley  of  the  Shad- 
ow of  Death,  the  Valley  of  Hu- 
miliation, etc. 

country  of  Beulah.  See  Isaiah  Ixii., 
4:  "Thou  shalt  be  called 
Hephzi-bah,  and  thy  land  [shall 
be  called]  Betdah"  The  mar- 
ginal reference  in  the  English 
version  translates  the  Hebrew 
term  Beulah  married. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — To  what  class  of  literary  productions  does  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress  belong?  Ans.  It  belongs  to  the  class  of  allegories. — Define 
the  figure  allegory.  (See  Def.  21.) — What  are  some  other  famous  allegories 
in  the  English  language  ? 

i-n.  Of  how  many  sentences  does  paragraph  i  consist? — To  which  class 
grammatically  does  each  sentence  belong? — How  many. members  (indepen- 
dent propositions)  in  the  first  sentence  ?  In  the  second  ?  In  the  third  ? — The 
three  sentences  are  of  the  same  kind  rhetorically  considered  :  are  they  periods 
or  loose  sentences? — Of  the  116  words  in  this  paragraph,  82  per  cent,  are  of 
Anglo-Saxon  origin  :  select  the  other  21  words. 

2.  nere  got.  Remark  on  this  grammatical  construction.  See  page  5,  note 
12  of  this  book. 


THE   GOLDEN  CITY. 


89 


and  saw  every  day  the  flowers  appear  in  the  earth,  and  heard  the 
voice  of  the  turtle  in  the  land.  In  this  country  the  sun  shineth 
night  and  day :  wherefore  it  was  beyond  the  Valley  of  the  Shad- 
ow of  Death,  and  also  out  of  the  reach  of  the  Giant  Despair ; 
neither  could  they  from  this  place  so  much  as  see  Doubting  ic 
Castle. 

2.  Here  they  were  within  sight  of  the  city  they  were  going  to ; 
also,  here  met  them  some  of  the  inhabitants  thereof ;  for  in  this 
land  the  shining  ones  commonly  walked,  because  it  was  upon  the 
borders  of  Heaven.  In  this  land,  also,  the  contract1*  between  15 
the  bride  and  bridegroom*  was  renewed.  Yea,  here  as  the  bride- 
groom rejoiceth  over  the  bride,  so  did  their  God  rejoice  over 


7.  roice  of  the  turtle.      See    Song   of 

Solomon  ii.,  12  :  "And  the 
voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our 
land."  turtle  =  turtle-dove. 

8,  9.  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.   By 

this  expression  is  not  meant 
death  itself,  but  a  state  of  great 
spiritual  depression.  Christian, 
the  hero  of  fas'  Pilgrim1  s  Prog- 
ress, is  represented  as  sorely 
distressed  in  this  valley,  but  as 
passing  through  it  unhurt.  The 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death 
was  at  the  end  of  the  Valley  of 
Humiliation. 

9-II.  Giant  Despair. . .  Doubting  Castle. 
In   chap.  xv.  of  the   Pilgrim's 


Progress,  an  account  is  given  of 
how  Christian  and  his  compan- 
ion Hopeful  mistook  their  way 
after  leaving  the  town  of  Vanity 
(which  they  reached  after  pass- 
ing through  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death),  and  fell 
asleep  near  "  Doubting  Castle, 
the  owner  whereof  was  Giant 
Despair."  By  him  they  were 
thrown  into  a  dungeon ;  but  at 
last  they  made  their  escape,  and 
then  went  on  to  the  Delectable 
Mountains. 

14.  shining  ones.     See  Luke  xxiv.,  4. 

1 6,  17.  bridegroom  rejoiceth.  See  Isaiah 
IxiL,  5. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 12-24.  Here  . . .  out,  etc.  One  of  the  sentences  in 
paragraph  2  is  a  period  :  which  is  the  sentence  ? — Note  the  use  of  "  here  "  as 
the  introductory  word  of  several  of  the  sentences  :  is  the  order  of  these  words 
the  common  or  the  rhetorical  order?  (See  Def.  43.) — Give  synonyms  of  the 
following  words  used  in  paragraph  2  :  "contract"  (15) ;  "abundance"  (19); 
"  pilgrimage  "  (20). 

12.  the  city  they  were  going  to.     Is  this  the  literary  or  the  conversational 
form  of  expression  ?     Change  to  the  literary  order. 

13.  here  met  them,  etc.     Remark  on  the  order  of  the  words. 
1 6.  bridegroom.     What  is  the  derivation  of  this  word  ? 


9° 


BUNYAN. 


them.  Here  they  had  no  want  of  corn  *  and  wine ;  for  in  this 
place  they  met  abundance*  of  what  they  had  sought  for  in  all 
their  pilgrimage.  Here  they  heard  voices  from  out  of  the  city,  2<j 
loud  voices,  saying,  "  Say  ye  to  the  daughter  of  Zion,  Behold, 
thy  salvation  cometh  !  Behold,  his  reward  is  with  him  !"  Here 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  called  them  "  the  holy  people, 
the  redeemed  of  the  Lord,  sought  out,"  etc. 

3.  Now,  as  they  walked  in  this  land,  they  had  more  rejoicing  25 
than  in  parts  more  remote  from  the  kingdom  to  which  they  were 
bound.     And  drawing  nearer  to  the  city  yet,  they  had  a  more 
perfect  view  thereof.    It  was  built  of  pearls  and  precious  stones  ; 
also  the  streets  thereof  were  paved  with  gold ;  so  that  by  rea- 
son of  the  natural  glory  of  the  city,  and  the  reflection  of  the  sun-  3a 
beams  upon  it,  Christian  with  desire  fell  sick.    Hopeful,  also,  had 

a  fit  or  two  of  the  same  disease ;  wherefore  here  they  lay  by  it 
awhile,  crying  out  because  of  their  pangs,  "  If  you  see  my  Be- 
Joved,  tell  him  that  I  am  sick  of  love." 

4.  But  being  a  little  strengthened,  and  better  able  to  bear  their  35 
sickness,  they  walked  on  their  way,  and  came  yet  nearer  and 
nearer,  where  were  orchards,*  vineyards,  and  gardens,  and  their 
gates  opened  into  the  highway.     Now,  as  they  came  up  to  these 
places,  behold  the  gardener  stood  in  the  way,  to  whom  the  pil- 
grims said,  "  Whose  goodly  vineyards  and  gardens  are  these  ?"  40 
He  answered,  "They  are  the  King's,  and  are  planted  here  for 
his  own  delight,  and  also  for  the  solace  of  pilgrims."     So  the 


1 8.  corn  and  wine.     See  Isaiah  Ixii.,  8, 

9. — corn  =  wheat. 
32.  lay  by  it  =  lay  by,  rested.      The 

"it"  here  is  indefinite,  and  is 


in  the  same  construction  as  in 
"  trip  it "  (Milton). 

34.  sick  of  lore  =  love-sick.    See  Song 
of  Solomon  v.,  8. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 18.  had  ne  want,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech 
here  ?  (See  Def.  81.) 

20,  21.  voices . .  .  loud  voices.  Observe  the  fine  effect  of  the  repetition  of 
"voices." 

23.  called  them  the  holy  people.     Give  syntax  of  "  them  ;"  of  "people." 

25-34.  Now,  as  they  walked  .  .  .  love.  How  many  sentences  in  paragraph  3  ? 
To  wnat  class,  grammatically  and  rhetorically  considered,  does  each  belong. 


THE   GOLDEN  CITY. 


91 


gardener  had  them  into   the  vineyards,  and  had  them  refresh 
themselves  with  the  dainties.     He  also  showed  them  there  the 
King's  walks  and  arbors,  where  he  delighted  to  be.     And  here  45 
they  tarried  and  slept. 

5.  Now  I  beheld  in  my  dream  that  they  talked  more  in  their 
sleep  at  this  time  than  they  ever  did  in  all  their  journey ;  and 
being  in  a  muse*  thereabout,  the  gardener  said  even  to  me, 

"  Wherefore  musest  thou  at  the  matter  ?     It  is  the  nature  of  the  50 
fruit  of  the  grapes  of  these  vineyards  to  go  down  so  sweetly  as 
to  cause  the  lips  of  them  that  are  asleep  to  speak." 

6.  So  I  saw  that  when  they  awoke  they  addressed*  themselves 
to  go  up  to  the  city.     But,  as  I  said,  the  reflection  of  the  sun 
upon  the  city  —  for  the  city  was  pure  gold  —  was  so  extremely  ss 
glorious  that  they  could  not  as  yet  with  open  face  behold  it,  but 
through  an  instrument  made  for  that  purpose.    So  I  saw  that,  as 
they  went  on,  there  met  them  two  men  in  raiment  that  shone  like 
gold  ;  also  their  faces  shone  as  the  light. 

7.  These  men  asked  the  pilgrims  whence  they  came  ?  and  they  60 
told  them.     They  also  asked  them  where  they  had  lodged,  what 
dangers  and  difficulties,  what  comforts  and  pleasures,  they  had 
met  with  in  the  way  ?  and  they  told  them.     Then  said  the  men 


43.  had  them  into  the  vineyards :  that  is, 
caused  them  to  go,  conducted 
them.  —  had  them  refresh:  that 
is,  caused  them  to  refresh.  In 
this  instance,  as  in  the  preced- 
ing, "  had  "  is  a  principal,  not 
an  auxiliary,  verb,  and  the  use 
of  the  word  is  idiomatic. 

49.  in  a  muse  =  in  deep  thought. 


51,  52.  go  down  so  sweetly  .  .  .  speak. 
See  Song  of  Solomon  vii.,  9. 

53.  addressed  themselves:  that  is,  pre- 
pared themselves. 

55.  pure  gold.    "  And  the  city  was  pure 

gold,  like  unto  clear  glass." — 
Revelation  xxi.,  18. 

56,  57.  with  open  face  .  .  .  instrument. 

See  2  Corinthians  iii.,  18. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 49.  muse.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word. 
50-52.  It  is  the  nature  .  .  .  speak.     Remark  on  the  form  of  statement  in  this 
sentence.     For  what  logical  subject  does  the  anticipative  subject  "  it "  stand  ? 
53-59.  So  I  saw  .  .  .  light.     Point  out  a  periodic  sentence  in  paragraph  6. 
53,  54.  So  I  saw .  .  .  city.     Analyze  this  sentence. 
56.  but.     What  part  of  speech  is  "  but "  here  ? 
57~59-  So  I  saw .  .  .  light.     What  simile  in  this  sentence? 


92  BUNYAN. 

that  had  met  them,  "  You  have  but  two  difficulties  more  to  meet 
with,  and  then  you  are  in  the  city."  as 

8.  Christian,  then,  and  his  companion  asked  the  men  to  go 
along  with  them ;  so  they  told  them  that  they  would.     "  But," 
said  they,  "  you  must  obtain  it  by  your  own  faith."     So  I  saw  in 
my  dream  that  they  went  on  together  till  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  gate.  7° 

9.  Now  I  further  saw  that  betwixt*  them  and  the  gate  was  a 
river,  but  there  was  no  bridge  to  go  over,  and  the  river  was  very 
deep.     At  the  sight,  therefore,  of  this  river  the  pilgrims  were 
much  stunned;  but.  the  men  that  went  with  them  said,  "You 
must  go  through,  or  you  cannot  come  at  the  gate."  75 

10.  The  pilgrims  then  began  to  inquire  if  there  was  no  other 
way  to  the  gate  ?    To  which  they  answered,  "  Yes ;  but  there  hath 
not  any,  save  two,  to  wit,  Enoch  and  Elijah,  been  permitted  to 
tread  that  path  since  the  foundation  of  the  world,  nor  shall,  until 
the  last  trumpet  shall  sound.     Then  the  pilgrims  —  especially  go 
Christian  —  began  to  despond  in  their  minds,  and  looked  this 
way  and  that ;  but  no  way  could  be  found  by  them  by  which  they 
could  escape  the  river.     Then  they  asked  the  men  if  the  waters 
were  all  of  a  depth  ?     They  said,  "  No  ;"  yet  they  could  not  help 
them  in  that  case  :  "  for,"  said  they,  "  you  shall  find  it  deeper  or  85 
shallower,  as  you  believe  in  the  King  of  the  place." 

11.  They  then  addressed  themselves  to  the  water,  and  enter- 
ing, Christian  began  to  sink,  and,  crying  out  to  his  good  friend 
Hopeful,  he  said,  "  I  sink  in  deep  waters,  the  billows  go  over  my 
head,  all  the  waters  go  over  me  ;  Selah."  *    Then  said  the  other,  90 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  brother ;  I  feel  the  bottom,  and  it  is 


75.  come  at  =  come  to,  reach. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 64.  but.     What  part  of  speech  is  "  but "  here  ? 

72.  no  bridge  to  go  over.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

77,  78.  there  hath  not  ...  permitted.  Remark  on  this  construction,  and 
change  the  form  of  expression. 

81.  despond  in  their  minds.     Query  as  to  any  redundancy  in  this  expression. 

87.  Give  the  derivation  of  the  following  words  in  paragraph  n  :  "com- 
passed" (93);  "discover"  (99);  "hobgoblins"  (105). 

89.  Hopeful.     What  is  the  syntax  of  this  word  ? 


THE   GOLDEN  CITY.  93 

good."  Then  said  Christian,  "Ah!  my  friend,  the  sorrows  of 
death  have  compassed  *  me  about.  I  shall  not  see  the  land  that 
flows  with  milk  and  honey."  And  with  that  a  great  darkness 
and  horror  fell  upon  Christian,  so  that  he  could  not  see  before  95 
him.  Also  he,  in  a  great  measure,  lost  his  senses,  so  that  he 
could  neither  remember  nor  orderly  talk  of  any  of  those  sweet 
refreshments  that  he  had  met  with  in  the  way  of  his  pilgrimage. 
But  all  the  words  that  he  spake  still  tended  to  discover  *  that  he 
had  horror  of  mind  and  heart-fears  that  he  should  die  in  that  100 
river  and  never  obtain  entrance  in  at  the  gate.  Here,  also,  as 
they  that  stood  by  perceived,  he  was  much  in  the  troublesome 
thoughts  of  the  sins  that  he  had  committed,  both  since  and  be- 
fore he  began  as  a  pilgrim.  It  was  also  perceived  that  he  was 
troubled  with  apparitions  of  hobgoblins  *  and  evil  spirits ;  for  105 
ever  and  anon  he  would  intimate  so  much  by  words.  Hopeful, 
therefore,  had  much  ado  *  to  keep  his  brother's  head  above 
water.  Yea,  he  would  sometimes  be  quite  gone  down,  and  then, 
ere  a  while,  he  would  rise  up  again  half  dead.  Hopeful  did  also 
endeavor  to  comfort  him,  saying,  "  Brother,  I  see  the  gate,  and  *« 
men  standing  by  to  receive  us."  But  Christian  would  answer, 
"  It  is  you,  it  is  you  that  they  wait  for.  You  have  been  hopeful 
ever  since  I  knew  you."  "And  so  have  you,"  he  said  to  Chris- 
tian. "  Ah,  brother,"  said  he,  "  surely,  if  I  was  right,  He  would 
now  rise  to  help  me ;  but  for  my  sins  He  hath  brought  me  into  us 
the  snare  and  left  me."  Then  said  Hopeful,  "My  brother,  you 
have  quite  forgot  the  text,  where  it  is  said  of  the  wicked,  '  There 
are  no  bands  in  their  death,  but  their  strength  is  firm  •  they  are 


99-  to  discover,  to  show.  I  118.  bands  =  bonds. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 93,  94.  I  shall  not .  . .  honey.    Analyze  this  sentence. 

99.  discover.  Distinguish  between  the  signification  of  "discover"  as  used 
by  Bunyan  and  its  modern  meaning,  and  trace  the  steps  in  the  change. 

102,  103.  he  was  much  in  the  troublesome  thoughts.  Modernize  this  form  of 
expression. 

107.  ado.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word. 

107,  108.  to  keep  .  .  .  water.  Adverbial  phrase  (purpose),  modifying  what 
verb? 

109.  ere  a  while.     Explain  this  phrase. 

112.  hopeful.     Do  you  suppose  this  to  be  intended  as  a  pun? 

117.  forgot.     Query  as  to  this  form. 


94 


BUN  VAN. 


not  troubled  as  other  men,  neither  are  they  plagued  like  other 
men.'  These  troubles  and  distresses  that  you  go  through  in  120 
these  waters  are  no  sign  that  God  hath  forsaken  you,  but  are  sent 
to  try  you  whether  you  will  call  to  mind  that  which  heretofore 
you  have  received  of  his  goodness  and  live  upon  him  in  your  dis- 
tresses." 

12.  Then  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  Christian  was  in  a  muse  a  125 
while.     To  whom,  also,  Hopeful  added  these  words :    "  Be  of 
good  cheer;  Jesus  Christ  maketh  thee  whole."     And  with  that 
Christian  brake  out  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Oh !  I  see  him  again, 
and  he  tells  me,  '  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will 
be  with  thee,  and  through  the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflow  130 
thee.' "     Then  they  both  took  courage,  and  the  enemy  was  after 
that  as  still  as  a  stone,  until  they  were  gone  over.     Christian, 
therefore,  presently  found  ground  to  stand  upon,  and  so  it  fol- 
lowed that  the  rest  of  the  river  was  but  shallow.     Thus  they  got 
over.  135 

13.  Now,  upon  the  bank  of  the  river,  on  the  other  side,  they 
saw  the  two   Shining  Men  again,  who  there  waited  for  them. 
Wherefore,  being  come  out  of  the  river,  they  saluted  them,  say- 
ing, "  We  are  ministering  spirits,  sent  forth  to  minister  *  to  those 
that  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation."    Thus  they  went  along  towards  140 
the  gate. 

14.  Now  you  must  note  that  the  city  stood  upon  a  mighty  hill ; 
but  the  pilgrims  went  up  that  hill  with  ease,  because  they  had 
these  two  men  to  lead  them  up  by  the  arms.    They  had  likewise 
left  their  mortal  *  garments  behind  them  in  the  river ;  for  though  145 


128.  brake  =  broke. 

132.  were  gone.       See   note    12,   page 

6. 
137.  Shining  Men.     See  lines  58,  59. 


139.  ministering  spirits.     See  Hebrews 

i.,  14. 
145.  their   mortal   garments  :     that    is, 

their  bodies. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  122.  call  to  mind.  Substitute  a  single  word  for 
these  three. 

123,  124.  distresses.     Give  as  many  synonyms  of  this  word  as  you  can. 

125.  was  in  a  muse.     Substitute  a  single-word  verb. 

125-135.  Then  .  .  .  orer.  How  many  sentences  in  paragraph  12  ? — State  the 
grammatical  class  of  each  sentence. — Is  there  any  period  in  the  paragraph  ? — 
Point  out  a  simile  in  this  paragraph. 


THE   GOLDEN  CITY. 


95 


they  went  in  with  them,  they  came  out  without  them.  They 
therefore  went  up  here  with  much  agility  and  speed,  though  the 
foundation  upon  which  the  city  was  framed  was  higher  than  the 
clouds.  They  therefore  went  up  through  the  region  of  the  air, 
sweetly  talking  as  they  went,  being  comforted  because  they  safe- 150 
ly  got  over  the  river  and  had  such  glorious  companions  to  attend 
them. 

15.  The  talk  that  they  had  with  the  Shining  Ones  was  about 
the  glory  of  the  place,  who  told  them  that  the  beauty  and  glory 
of  it  was  inexpressible.     "  There,"  said  they,  "  is  Mount  Sion,  iss 
the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  the  innumerable  company  of  angels,  and 
the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect.     You  are  going  now,"  said 
they,  "  to  the  paradise  *  of  God,  wherein  you  shall  see  the  tree 
of  life,  and  eat  of  the  never-fading  fruits  thereof ;  and  when  you 
come  there,  you  shall  have  white  robes  given  you,  and  your  walk  160 
and  talk  shall  be  every  day  with  the  King,  even  all  the  days  of 
eternity.     There  you  shall  not  see  again  such  things  as  you  saw 
when  you  were  in  the  lower  region  upon  the  earth  —  to  wit,  sor- 
row, sickness,  affliction,  and  death ;    for  the  former  things  are 
passed  away.     You  are  now  going  to  Abraham,  to  Isaac,  and  to  165 
Jacob,  and  to  the  prophets,  men  that  God  hath  taken  away  from 


155-157.  There  . .  .  perfect.  For  the 
source  of  the  terms  and  phrases 
here  used  by  Bunyan,  see  He- 
brews xxii.,  22,  23. 

'58,  159-  paradise  .  .  .  tree  of  life.  "To 
him  that  overcometh  will  I  give 
to  eat  of  the  tree  of  life,  which 


is  in  the  midst  of  the  paradise 
of  God"  —  See  Revelation  ii., 

7- 

160.  white  robes.  "  What  are  these 
which  are  arrayed  in  -white 
robes?"  —  See  Revelation  vii., 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 147.  agility  and  speed.  Which  of  these  words  is  of 
Latin  and  which  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin  ? 

150,  151.  safely  got.     Remark  on  the  position  of  the  adverb. 

153-155.  The  talk  .  .  .  inexpressible.  Note  the  mode  in  which  the  members 
of  this  sentence  are  loosely  joined  by  the  relative  pronoun  "  who."  Express 
the  thought  in  a  more  modern  manner. 

154,  155.  beauty  and  glory .  .  .  was.     How  may  the  singular  number  of  the 
verb  be  justified  here  ? 

155.  There.  ..  is.     What  is  the  logical  subject  of  "is."     Hence  in  what 
number  should  the  verb  be  ? 


96  BUNYAN. 

the  evil  to  come,  and  that  are  now  'resting  upon  their  beds,  each 
one  walking  in  his  uprightness.' "  The  men  then  asked,  "What 
must  we  do  in  the  holy  place  ?"  To  whom  it  was  answered,  "  You 
must  there  receive  the  comforts  of  all  your  toil,  and  have  joyi7<> 
for  all  your  sorrow ;  you  must  reap  what  you  have  sown,  even 
the  fruit  of  all  your  prayers,  and  tears,  and  sufferings  for  the 
King  by  the  way.  In  that  place  you  must  wear  crowns  of  gold, 
and  enjoy  the  perpetual  sight  and  vision  of  the  Holy  One ;  for 
there  you  shall  see  him  as  he  is.  There  also  you  shall  servers 
him  continually  with  praise,  with  shouting  and  thanksgiving, 
whom  you  desired  to  serve  in  the  world,  though  with  much  diffi- 
culty, because  of  the  infirmity  of  your  flesh.  There  your  eyes 
shall  be  delighted  with  seeing,  and  your  ears  with  hearing  the 
pleasant  voice  of  the  Mighty  One.  There  you  shall  enjoy  your  180 
friends  again  that  are  gone  thither  before  you ;  and  there  you 
shall  with  joy  receive  even  every  one  that  followeth  into  the  holy 
place  after  you.  There  also  you  shall  be  clothed  with  glory  and 
majesty,  and  put  into  an  equipage  fit  to  ride  out  with  the  King 
of  Glory.  When  he  shall  come  with  sound  of  trumpet  in  the  185 
clouds,  as  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind,  you  shall  come  with  him ; 
and  when  he  shall  sit  upon  the  throne  of  judgment,  you  shall  sit 
by  him ;  yea,  and  when  he  shall  pass  sentence  upon  all  the 
workers  of  iniquity,  let  them  be  angels  or  men,  you  also  shall 
have  a  voice  in  that  judgment,  because  they  were  his  and  youri9o 
enemies.  Also,  when  he  shall  again  return  to  the  city,  you  shall 
go,  too,  with  sound  of  trumpet,  and  be  ever  with  him." 

1 6.  Now,  while  they  were  thus  drawing  towards  the  gate,  be- 
hold, a  company  of  the  heavenly  host  came  out  to  meet  them ; 
to  whom  it  was  said  by  the  other  two  Shining  Ones,  "  These  are  195 


167,  168.  resting .  . .  uprightness.     See  Isaiah  Ivii.,  2. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 174.  sight  and  vision.  Which  of  these  words  is  of 
Anglo-Saxon  and  which  of  Latin  origin  ? — The  use  of  a  pair  of  synonymous 
words,  one  of  Anglo-Saxon  and  the  other  of  Latin  origin,  was  common  in  the 
17th-century  writers. 

175-178.  There  also  .  .  .  flesh.  Transpose  this  sentence  so  as  to  bring  the 
relative  pronoun  "whom"  nearer  to  its  antecedent. 

179.  seeing.  What  words  must  be  understood  as  the  object  of  "seeing?*' 
Rewrite  the  sentence,  fully  expressing  the  thought. 


THE   GOLDEN  CITY. 


97 


the  men  that  have  loved  our  Lord  when  they  were  in  the  world, 
and  that  have  left  all  for  his  holy  name ;  and  he  hath  sent  us 
to  fetch  them,  and  we  have  brought  them  thus  far  on  their  de- 
sired journey  that  they  may  go  in,  and  look  their  Redeemer  in 
the  face  with  joy."  Then  the  heavenly  host  gave  a  great  shout,  200 
saying,  "  Blessed  are  they  that  are  called  to  the  marriage  supper 
of  the  Lamb."  There  came  out  also,  at  this  time,  to  meet  them 
several  of  the  King's  trumpeters,  clothed  in  white  and  shining 
raiment,  who,  with  melodious  noises  and  loud,  made  even  the 
heavens  to  echo  with  their  sound.  These  trumpeters  saluted  205 
Christian  and  his  fellow  *  with  ten  thousand  welcomes  from  the 
world ;  and  this  they  did  with  shouting  and  sound  of  trumpet. 

17.  This  done,  they  compassed  them  round  on  every  side. 
Some  went  before,  some  behind,  and  some  on  the  right  hand, 
some  on  the  left  (as  it  were,  to  guard  them  through  the  upper  210 
regions),  continually  sounding  as  they  went,  with  melodious 
noise,  in  notes  on  high :  so  that  the  very  sight  was  to  them  that 
could  behold  it  as  if  heaven  itself  was  come  down  to  meet  them. 
Thus,  therefore,  they  walked  on  together ;  and,  as  they  walked, 
ever  and  anon  these  trumpeters,  even  with  joyful  sound,  would,  215 
by  mixing  their  music  with  looks  and  gestures,  still  signify  to 
Christian  and  his  brother  how  welcome  they  were  into  their  com- 
pany, and  with  what  gladness  they  came  to  meet  them.  And 
now  were  these  two  men,  as  it  were,  in  heaven  before  they  came 
at  it,  being  swallowed  up  with  the  sight  of  angels,  and  with  hear-  220 
ing  of  their  melodious  notes.  Here,  also,  they  had  the  city  itself 
in  view,  and  thought  they  heard  all  the  bells  therein  to  ring  to 
welcome  them  thereto.  But,  above  all,  the  warm  and  joyful 


201.  marriage  supper,  etc.      See  Reve- 
lation xix.,  9. 

206,  his  fellow :  that  is,  Hopeful. 
206,  207.  welcomes  from  the  world :  that 


is,  welcomes   on  their  arrival 
from  the  world. 

220.  at  it  =  to  it ;  swallowed  up,  trans- 
ported. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 204.  melodious  noises  and  loud.  Remark  on  the  po- 
sition of  the  adjectives.  Observe  the  expression  "  melodious  noises."  [This 
is  an  illustration  of  a  form  of  antithesis  to  which  the  name  oxymoron  is  some- 
times given.  It  unites  words  of  contrary  signification,  and  produces  a  seem- 
ing contradiction.] 

223-226.  But  aboye  all ...  expressed.  What  kind  of  sentence  is  this  gram- 
matically ? 

7 


BUN  VAN". 


thoughts  that  they  had  about  their  own  dwelling  there  with  such 
company,  and  that  for  ever  and  ever  —  oh,  by  what  tongue  or  pen  225 
can  their  glorious  joy  be  expressed  !     Thus  they  came  up  to  the 
gate. 

1  8.  Now,  when  they  were  come  up  to  the  gate,  there  was  writ- 
ten over  it  in  letters  of  gold,  "  Blessed  are  they  that  do  His  com- 
mandments, that  they  may  have  right  to  the  tree  of  life,  and  may  230 
enter  in  through  the  gates  into  the  city." 

19.  Then  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  the  two  Shining  Men  bade 
them  call  at  the  gate.     The  which  when  they  did,  some  from 
above  looked  over  the  gate  —  to  wit,  Enoch,  Moses,  and  Elijah, 
etc.  —  to  whom  it  was  said,  "  These  pilgrims  are  come  from  the  235 
City  of  Destruction  for  the  love  that  they  bear  to  the  King  of 
this  place  ;"  and  then  the  pilgrims  gave  in  unto  them  each  man 
his  certificate  which  they  had  received  in  the  beginning.    Those, 
therefore,  were  carried  in  to  the  King,  who,  when  he  had  read 
them,  said,  "  Where  are  the  men  ?"     To  whom  it  was  answered,  240 
"They  are  standing  without  the  gate."     The  King  then  com- 
manded to  open  the  gate,  "that  the  righteous  nation,"  said  he, 

"  that  keepeth  truth  may  enter  in." 

20.  Now  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  these  two  men  went  in  at  the 
gate  ;  and,  lo  !  as  they  entered  they  were  transfigured,  and  they  a4S 
had  raiment  put  on  that  shone  like  gold.     There  were  also  that 
met  them  with  harps  and  crowns,  and  gave  them  to  them  —  the 
harps  to  praise  withal,*  and  the  crowns  in  token  of  honor.   Then 


233.  The  which.  The  use  of  the  definite 
article  with  "  which  "  originates 
in  an  ellipsis  of  a  noun,  "which" 
being  primarily  an  indefinite  ad- 
jective. Compare  Fr.  lequel. 

236.  City  of  Destruction.  The  "  City  of 
Destruction"  (the  natural  or 
unregenerate  state  of  man)  was 
the  place  whence  the  Pilgrim 
set  out  on  his  progress. 


237.  gave  in,  delivered. 

241.  without  the  gate  =  outside  of  the 

gate. 

242,  243.  righteous  nation  .  .  .  may  enter 

in.     Isaiah  xxvi.,  2. 
247, 248.  the    harps    to    praise    withal. 

"  Withal  "  (prep.)  =  with  ;  and, 
supplying  the  relative,  the  con- 
struction is  "the  harps  with 
which  to  praise." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  232,  233.  that  the  two  , 
clause  is  this  ?     Of  what  verb  is  it  the  object  ? 
245.  transfigured.     Give  synonyms  of  this  word. 


gate.      What  kind   of 


THE   GOLDEN  CITY.  99 

I  heard  in  my  dream  that  all  the  bells  in  the  city  rang  again  for 
joy,  and  that  it  was  said  unto  them,  "  Enter  ye  into  the  joy  of  250 
your  Lord."  I  also  heard  the  men  themselves  that  they  sang 
with  a  loud  voice,  saying,  "  Blessing,  and  honor,  and  glory,  and 
power  be  unto  him  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  unto  the 
Lamb,  for  ever  and  ever." 

21.  Now,  just  as  the  gates  were  opened  to  let  in  the  men,  1 255 
looked  in  after  them,  and  behold,  the  city  shone  like  the  sun ; 
the  streets  also  were  paved  with  gold,  and  in  them  walked  many 
men  with  crowns  on   their  heads,  palms  in  their  hands,  and 
golden  harps,  to  sing  praises  withal. 

22.  There  were  also  of  them  that  had  wings,  and  they  answered  260 
one  another  without  intermission,  saying,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy  is 
the  Lord !"   And  after  that,  they  shut  up  the  gates ;  which,  when 

I  had  seen,  I  wished  myself  among  them.  *  *  * 

23.  So  I  awoke ;  and  behold,  it  was  a  dream. 


254.  for  ever  and  CTCT.    See  Rev.  v.,  13.  |  260.  of  them:  that  is,  some  of  them. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 250,  251.  Enter  ye  into  the  joy  of  your  Lord.  Analyze 
this  sentence. 

255-264.  Now,  just .  .  .  dream.  In  the  last  three  paragraphs,  containing  103 
words,  only  six  are  of  other  than  Anglo- Gaxon  origin :  which  are  these  words  ? 


VI. 

JOHN   DRYDEN. 

1631-1700. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  WALTER  SCOTT.1 

i.  If  Dryden  received  but  a  slender  share  of  the  gifts  of  fort- 
une, it  was  amply  made  up  to  him  in  reputation.  Even  while  a 
poet  militant  upon  earth,  he  received  no  ordinary  portion  of  that 

1  From  Life  and  Works  of  John  Dryden,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


scoTrs  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  DRYDEN.       101 

applause  which  is  too  often  reserved  for  the  "dull  cold  ear  of 
death."  He  combated,  it  is  true,  but  he  conquered  :  and,  in 
despite  of  faction,  civil  and  religious ;  of  penury,  and  the  con- 
tempt which  follows  it;  of  degrading  patronage  and  rejected 
solicitation,  the  name  of  Dryden  was  first  in  English  literature. 

2.  The  distinguishing  characteristic  of  Dryden's  genius  seems 
to  have  been  the  power  of  reasoning  and  of  expressing  the  re- 
sult in  appropriate  language.     This  m^  seem  slender:  /praise  ; 
yet  these  were  the  talents  which  led- Bacon  into  the  recesses  of 
philosophy,  and  conducted  Newton  /to;  th£.;  Cabirte£  Jqf. :  hature. 
The  prose  works  of  Dryden  bear  'repeated  evidence  16  ri'is  philo- 
sophical powers.     Indeed,  his  early  and  poetical  studies  gave  his 
researches  somewhat  too  much  of  a  metaphysical  character ;  and 
it  was  a  consequence  of  his  mental  acuteness  that  his  dramatic 
personages  often  philosophized  or  reasoned  when  they  ought 
only  to  have  felt.     The  more  lofty,  the  fiercer,  the  more  ambi- 
tious feelings  seem  also  to  have  been  his  favorite  studies. 

3.  With  this  power  Dryden's  poetry  was  gifted  in  a  degree  sur- 
passing in  modulated  harmony  that  of  all  who  had  preceded  him, 
and  inferior  to  none  that  has  since  written  English  verse.     He 
first  showed  that  the  English  language  was  capable  of  uniting 
smoothness  and  strength.     The  hobbling  verses  of  his  predeces- 
sors were  abandoned  even  by  the  lowest  versifiers ;  and  by  the 
force  of  his  precept  and  example  the  meanest  lampooners  of  the 
year  seventeen  hundred  wrote  smoother  lines  than  Donne  and 
Cowley,  the  chief  poets  of  the  earlier  half  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury.   What  was  said  of  Rome  adorned  by  Augustus  has  been,  by 
Johnson,  applied  to  English  poetry  improved  by  Dryden:  that 
he  found  it  of  brick,  and  left  it  of  marble. 

4.  The  satirical  powers  of  Dryden  were  of  the  highest  order. 
He  draws  his  arrow  to  the  head,  and  dismisses  it  straight  upon 
his  object  of  aim.     In  this  walk  he  wrought  almost  as  great  a 
reformation  as  upon  versification  in  general — a  fact  which  will 
plainly  appear  if  we  consider  that,  before  Dryden's  time,  satire 
bore  the  same  reference  to  Absalom  and  Achitophel  which  an 
ode   of   Cowley  bears  to  Alexander's  Feast.     But  he  and  his 
imitators  had  adopted  a  metaphysical  satire,  as  the  poets  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  century  had  created  a  metaphysical  vein  of 
serious  poetry.     Both  required  store  of  learning  to  supply  the 


102  DRYDEN. 

perpetual  expenditure  of  extraordinary  and  far-fetched  illustra- 
tion. The  object  of  both  was  to  combine  and  hunt  down  the 
strangest  and  most  fanciful  analogies ;  and  both  held  the  atten- 
tion of  the  reader  perpetually  on  the  stretch,  to  keep  up  with  the 
meaning  of  the  author.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  meta- 
physical vein  was  much  better  fitted  for  the  burlesque  than  the 
sublime.  Yet  the  perpetual  scintillation  of  Butler's  wit  is  too 
dazzling  "to  be  delightful  jraiid  we  can  seldom  read  far  in  Hudi- 
bras  without  feeling  more  fatigue  than  pleasure.  His  fancy  is 
employed  with,  the  profusion  of  a  spendthrift,  by  whose  eternal 
round  of  banqueting  his  guests  are  at  length  rather  wearied  out 
than  regaled.  Dryden  was  destined  to  correct  this  among  other 
errors  of  his  age ;  to  show  the  difference  between  burlesque  and 
satire ;  and  to  teach  his  successors  in  that^  species  of  assault 
rather  to  thrust  than  to  flourish  with  their  weapon. 

5.  In  lyrical  poetry,  Dryden  must  be  allowed  to  have  no  equal. 
Alexander's  Feast  is  sufficient  to  show  his  supremacy  in  that  brill- 
iant department.      In  this  exquisite  production,  he  flung  from 
him  all  the  trappings  with  which  his  contemporaries  had  embar- 
rassed the  ode.     The  language,  lofty  and  striking  as  the  ideas 
are,  is  equally  simple  and  harmonious.    Without  far-fetched  allu- 
sions or  epithets  or  metaphors,  the  story  is  told  as  intelligibly  as 
if  it  had  been  in  the  most  humble  prose.    The  change  of  tone  in 
the  harp  of  Timotheus  regulates  the  measure  and  the  melody 
and  the  language  of  every  stanza.     The  hearer,  while  he  is  led 
on  by  the  successive  changes,  experiences  almost  the  feelings  ot 
the  Macedonian  and  his  peers ;  nor  is  the  splendid  poem  dis- 
graced by  one  word  or  line  unworthy  of  it.  ...  We  listen  for  the 
completion  of  Dryden's  stanza  as  for  the  explication  of  a  diffi- 
cult passage  in  music ;  and  wild  and  lost  as  the  sound  appears, 
the  ear  is  proportionably  gratified  by  the  unexpected  ease  with 
which  harmony  is  extracted  from  discord  and  confusion.  .  .  . 

6.  Educated  in  a  pedantic  taste  and  a  fanatical  religion,  Dry- 
den was  destined,  if  not  to  give  laws  to  the  stage  of  England,  at 
least  to  defend  its  liberties  ;  to  improve  burlesque  into  satire ;  to 
teach  posterity  the  powerful  and  varied  poetical  harmony  of  which 
their  language  was  capable ;  to  give  an  example  of  the  lyric  ode 
of  unapproached  excellence  \  and  to  leave  to  English  literature 
a  name  second  only  to  that  of  Milton  and  of  Shakespeare. 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST. 


103 


I.— ALEXANDER'S   FEAST  ;   OR,  THE   POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  ode  entitled  Alexander's  Feast  was  written  by  Dry- 
den  in  1697  for  an  English  musical  society  that  annually  celebrated  the  festi- 
val of  St.  Cecilia,  the  patron  saint  of  music.1  It  was  composed  in  a  single 
night.  Lord  Bolingbroke  states  that  Dryden  said  to  him,  when  he  called  upon 
him  one  morning,  "  I  have  been  up  all  night.  My  musical  friends  made  me 
promise  to  write  them  an  ode  for  their  feast  of  St.  Cecilia,  and  I  was  so  struck 
with  the  subject  which  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  not  leave  it  till  I  had  com- 
pleted it.  Here  it  is,  finished  at  one  sitting."  Macaulay  pronounces  this  ode 
Dryden's  greatest  work.  "  It  is,"  he  says,  "  the  masterpiece  of  the  second 
class  of  poetry,  and  ranks  just  below  the  great  models  of  the  first."  Dryden 
himself,  as  it  appears,  shared  this  opinion.  When  Chief-justice  Manlay,  then 
a  young  lawyer,  congratulated  him  on  having  produced  "  the  finest  and  noblest 
ode  that  ever  had  been  written  in  any  language,"  "  You  are  right,  young  gen- 
tleman," replied  Dryden,  "a  nobler  ode  never  was  produced,  nor  ever 

I. 

'Twas  at  the  royal  feast,  for  Persia  won 

By  Philip's  warlike  son  — 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne  ; 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around, 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtle  bound, 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned). 


NOTES.  —  Line  I.  'Twas  at,  etc.  By 
poetic  license  Dryden  opens 
with  a  bold  ellipsis.  To  parse 
the  passage,  we  must  read  some- 
what thus  :  "  It  was  at  the  royal 
feast  on  account  of  Persia  won 
by  Philip's  warlike  son  that 
what  follows  happened."— for, 
on  account  of. 

2.  Philip's  warlike  son.     Alexander  the 


Great  (356-323  B.C.),  son  of 
Philip,  King  of  Macedon.  He 
conquered  "  the  world  "  (Persia 
in  B.C.  331,  330).  The  "royal 
feast "  took  place  at  Persepolis, 
the  capital  of  Persia. 
7.  Their  brows,  etc.  At  a  Greek  ban- 
quet the  guests  were  garlanded 
with  roses  and  myrtle  leaves. 
(See  Becker's  Charities.) 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 3,  4.  Aloft . . .  sate.    Transpose  these  two  lines  into 
the  prose  order. 
4.  sate.     Modernize. 
7.  Their  brows  .  .  .  bound.     What  kind  of  phrase  is  this  > 

1  It  should  be  remembered  that  the  ode  was  designed  to  be  set  to  music. 
This  was  done  at  the  time,  and  also  by  Handel  in  1736. 


io4 


DRYDEN. 


The  lovely  Thai's  by  his  side 
Sate,  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride, 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair  ! 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair  i 


2. 

Timotheus,  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire, 
With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 

And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove, 
Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above, 
(Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  Love.) 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god : 


9.  Thais,  a  celebrated  Athenian  beau- 
ty and  wit,  the  companion  of 
Alexander,  whom  she  accom- 
panied in  his  invasion  of  Persia. 
"Her  name  is  best  known  by 
her  having  stimulated  Alexan- 
der, during  a  festival  at  Persep- 
olis,  to  set  fire  to  the  palace 
of  the  Persian  kings ;  but  this 
anecdote,  immortalized  as  it  has 
been  by  Dryden's  famous  ode 
[see  lines  118-121],  is,  in  all 
probability,  a  mere  fable." 
(Smith's  Classical  Dictionary.} 


13.  None.     Literally  no  one. 

1 6.  Timo'theus :    a    celebrated    Greek 

musician  and  a  great  favorite 

of  Alexander. 

21.  from  Jove:  that  is,  with  Jove  (Jupi- 

ter). 

22.  seats.    The  plural  form  is  a  Latin- 

ism  ;   we  should  now  use  the 
singular  number. 

24.  A  dragon's  fiery  form,  etc.  The 
prose  word-arrangement  would 
be,  "The  god  (Jupiter)  belied 
(counterfeited)  a  dragon's  fiery 
form." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 10.  Sate,  like,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
See  Def.  19.) 

13-15.  None  but  the  brave  . .  .  brave.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See 
Def.  36.) — deserves.  With  what  subject  does  this  word  agree  ? 

16-20.  Timotheus  .  .  .  inspire.  Analyze  this  sentence. — Point  out  two  ex« 
amples  of  the  "historical  present"  tense. — What  is  the  subject  of  "inspire?** 

23.  Such.     What  part  of  speech  ? 

24.  belied.     What  is  the  subject  of  " belied?*' 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST. 

Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode. 
*  #  *  *  # 

The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound ; 
A  present  deity,  they  shout  around  ; 
A  present  deity,  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 

With  ravished  ears 

The  monarch  hears, 

Assumes  the  god, 

Affects  to  nod,* 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


I05 


The  praise  of  Bacchus  then  the  sweet  musician  sung, 
Of  Bacchus  ever  fair  and  ever  young. 

The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes  ; 

Sound  the  trumpets,  beat  the  drums ; 

Flushed  with  a  purple  grace 

He  shows  his  honest  *  face  : 
Now  give  the  hautboys  *  breath ;  he  comes,  he  comes. 

Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 
Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain ; 

Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure, 

Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure  : 


35 


40 


25.  spires    (often    incorrectly    printed 

spheres),  spiral  lines. 
32.  to  nod :  that  is,  to  signify  the  will 

of  the  god  (Jupiter)  by  nodding. 
35.  Bacchus.     See  p.  50,  note  16. 
39.  honest  face  =  handsome  face. 


40.  hautboys,  oboes.     The  hautboy,  or 

oboe,  is  a  wind  instrument  of 
music  like  the  clarinet. 

41,  42.  Bacchus  .  .  .  ordain  :    that    is, 

Bacchus  did  first  ordain  drink- 
ing joys. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 25.  on  radiant  spires.    To  what  word  is  this  expres- 
.  an  adjunct? 

26.  the  lofty  sound.     What  is  meant  by  this  expression  ? 

27.  A  present  deity.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

29-33'  With  ravished  ears . . .  spheres.     Supply  the  ellipsis  and  analyze  this 
sentence. 
34.  sung.     What  form  should  we  now  use  ? 

38.  Flushed  . .  .  grace.     Explain  this  expression. 

39.  honest.    Justify,  from  its  etymology,  this  use  of  the  word. 


io6 


DRYDEN. 


Rich  the  treasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 


45 


Soothed  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain ; 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again  ; 

And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew  the  slain.  50 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise, 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes  ; 
And  while  he  heaven  and  earth  defied, 
Changed  his  hand,  and  checked  his  pride. 

He  chose  a  mournful  muse,  55 

Soft  pity  to  infuse  : 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good, 

By  too  severe  a  fate, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 

Fallen  from  his  high  estate,  60 

And  weltering  in  his  blood. 
Deserted  at  his  utmost  need 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed, 


52.  ardent,  burning. 

55.  muse,  poetic  subject. 

57.  Darius:  that  is,  Darius  III.,  who 
was  king  of  Persia  at  the  time 
of  Alexander's  invasion.  De- 


feated in  the  great  battle  of 
Arbela,  he  fled  into  Bactria, 
where  he  was  betrayed  by  a 
treacherous  satrap  (see  line  63) 
and  murdered. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  45, 46.  Rich  the  treasure  . . .  pleasure.  Supply  the 
ellipsis.  Remark  on  the  position  of  the  adjectives  "  Rich,"  "  Sweet."  (See 
Def.  45.) 

49.  Fought  all  his  battles.     Name  some  of  the  victories  that  resulted  in  the 
conquest  of  Persia.     (See  Grecian  History].     Fought .  .  .  o'er  again.     Explain 
this  sentence. 

50.  thrice  he  slew  the  slain.      What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def. 
34.) 

54.  Changed  his  ...  pride.     To  whom  does  the  former  "  his  "  refer  ?    The 
latter  ?    What  fault  would  this  be  in  prose  ?    Is  it  avoidable  here  ? 

55.  muse.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  28.) 

59,  60.  Fallen  . . .  Fallen,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  ?     (See  Def.  36.) 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST. 

On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies, 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 
With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Revolving  in  his  altered  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  *  below : 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

5- 

The  mighty  master  smiled  to  see 

That  love  was  in  the  next  degree : 

'Twas  but  a  kindred  sound  to  move, 

For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 

Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures, 
Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 
War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble, 
Honor  but  an  empty  bubble, 

Never  ending,  still  beginning, 
Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying. 


107 


75 


64.  exposed,  cast  out. 

65.  a  =  one,  its  primary  meaning. 

67.  Revolving,  turning  over,  reflecting 

repeatedly  upon.  —  altered  soul, 
changed  mood. 

68.  chance,  fate,  fortune. 

69.  a  sigh  he  stole:  that  is,  he  sighed 

inaudibly. 


72.  was  in  the  next  degree :  that  is,  came 

next  in  order  after  pity. 

73.  'Twas  but,  etc. :  that  is,  all  he  had 

to  do  was  only  to  move  a  kin- 
dred sound. — move,  to  set  in 
motion. 

75.  Lydian  measures.       See  IS  Allegro, 
page  55,  line  128,  and  note. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 66.  sate:  modernize. 

66-70.  With  downcast  looks .  .  .  flow.  Change  into  an  equivalent  sentence, 
using  different  words  and  the  prose  order. 

73.  but.     What  part  of  speech  here  ? 

78.  bubble.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  20.)  Dryden  may 
have  had  in  mind  Shakespeare's  well-known  lines  : 

"Then  a  soldier 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation  [==  honor] 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth." 


79,  80.  What  is  it  that  is 
etc.? 


Never  ending,"  etc.  ?     What  "  Fighting  still," 


io8 


DRYDEK. 


If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning, 
Think,  O  think  it  worth  enjoying  : 
Lovely  Thai's  sits  beside  thee, 
Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee. 
The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause  ; 
So  love  was  crowned,  but  music  won  the  cause. 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 
Gazed  on  the  fair 
Who  caused  his  care, 

And  sighed  and  looked,  sighed  and  looked, 
Sighed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again. 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppressed, 
The  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

6. 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again ; 

A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain. 

Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder, 

And  rouse  him,  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 

Hark,  hark,  the  horrid  sound 
Has  raised  up  his  head ; 
As  awaked  from  the  dead, 

And  amazed  he  stares  around. 
Revenge,  revenge,  Timotheus  cries, 

See  the  Furies  arise ; 

See  the  snakes  that  they  rear, 

How  they  hiss  in  their  hair, 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes ! 


95 


'05 


103,  104.  Furies  . . .  snakes.  The  Fu- 
ries, in  Greek  mythology,  were 
divinities  whose  duty  it  was  to 
avenge  great  enemies.  They 


were  represented  as  females, 
with  bodies  all  black,  serpents 
twined  in  their  hair,  and  blood 
dripping  from  their  eyes. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 81,  82.  worth.  What  part  of  speech  is  this  ?  (See 
Swinton's  New  English  Grammar,  page  134.)  "Winning"  and  "enjoying" 
are  infinitives  in  -ing  or  verbal  nouns  (ibid,  page  52),  and  are  in  the  objective 
adv  rbial  (ibid,  page  105). 

97.  rou-e  him.     Observe  in  this  line  that  the  sound  is  the  echo  of  the  sense. 

102.  Revenge.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST. 

Behold  a  ghastly  band, 
Each  a  torch  in  his  hand ! 

Those  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were  slain, 
And  unburied  remain 
Inglorious  on  the  plain  : 
Give  the  vengeance  due 
To  the  valiant  crew. 

Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 
How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes, 
And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods. 
The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy ; 
And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau*  with  zeal  to  destroy. 
Thai's  led  the  way, 
To  light  him  to  his  prey, 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 


109 


Thus  long  ago, 

Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow, 
While  organs  yet  were  mute, 
Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute 

And  sounding  lyre, 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 


123 


113.  crew.     See  D Allegro,  page  51. 

1 1 6.  their  hostile  gods  =  the  gods  of 
their  enemies — namely,  the  Per- 
sians. 

1 1 8.  flambeau,  a  torch. 

121.  Helen,  the  wife  of  Menelaus,  King 
of  Sparta,  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  in  the  world,  and, 
according  to  Grecian  mytholo- 
gy, was  reputed  of  divine  origin. 
She  was  abducted  by  Paris, 
Prince  of  Troy.  Hence  the 


Trojan  war,  which  lasted  ten 
years,  ending  with  the  taking 
and  burning  of  the  city  by  the 
Greeks.  Now,  as  Helen  was 
the  occasion  of  the  Trojan  war, 
she  is  represented  as  the  cause 
of  the  burning  of  Troy,  and 
hence  the  parallel  drawn  by 
Dryden  between  her  and  Thai's 
(see  note  9). 

123.  bellows:  that  is,  of  the  organ. 

125.  to,  with. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 108.  torch.     What  is  the  syntax  of  this  word. 
109.  Those  are  ...  slain.     State  the  real  meaning  of  this  sentence. 


no 


DRYDEN. 


At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  *  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 

The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 

With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  both  divide  the  crown  : 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies ; 
She  drew  an  angel  down. 


135 


129.  Inrentress  of  the  vocal  frame:  that 
is,  the  organ.  The  legend  of 
St.  Cecilia  is  obscure.  She  is 
reputed  to  have  lived  in  the 
third  century  A.D.,  and  is  cred- 
ited with  the  invention  of  the 
organ. 

136.  He  raised  a  mortal,  etc. :    that   is, 

immortalized  Alexander. 

137.  drew  an  aneel  down.     In  the  story 


of  St.  Cecilia,  told  in  the  "Gold- 
en Legends"  (Legenda  Aurea, 
thirteenth  century),  she  is  said 
to  have  been  under  the  imme- 
diate and  present  protection  of 
an  angel ;  and  this  was  prob- 
ably the  beginning  of  the  tra- 
dition here  referred  to,  and 
which  was  exquisitely  painted 
by  Raphael. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 129.  What  is  the  etymology  of  "  Inventress  ?' 
134-137.  Give  a  paraphrase  of  the  last  four  lines. 


TWO  PORTRAITS  IN  AQUA-FORTIS. 


Ill 


II.—TWO   PORTRAITS   IN   AQUA-FORTIS. 

[INTRODUCTION. —These  two  extracts  are  from  Dryden's  political  satire 
called  Absalom  and  Achitophel,  which  contains  over  one  thousand  lines,  and 
was  first  published  in  1681.  By  Achitophel  is  meant  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury, 
the  great  leader  of  the  Protestant  opposition  during  the  latter  years  of  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.  Dryden  had  before  then  become  a  convert  to  Catholici- 
ty, and  his  object  was  to  throw  odium  on  Shaftesbury  and  his  party.  The 
brilliant,  profligate  Duke  of  Buckingham  (Zimri)  was  a  statesman  and  a  wri- 
ter, and  at  this  time  was,  with  Shaftesbury,  a  leader  of  the  opposition.  Many 
other  personages  are  represented  in  the  poem  of  Absalom  and  Achitophel ; 
but  these  two  are  the  most  famous  portraits.] 

I.— ACHITOPHEL  (THE  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY). 

Of  these  the  false  Achitophel  was  first, 

A  name  to  all  succeeding  ages  curst  • 

For  close  designs  and  crooked  councils  fit, 

Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  wit ; 

Restless,  unfixed  in  principles  and  place ; 

In  power  unpleased,  impatient  of  disgrace — 

A  fiery  soul  which,  working  out  its  way, 

Fretted  the  pygmy*  body  to  decay, 

And  o'er-informed  the  tenement  of  clay. 

A  daring  pilot  in  extremity, 

Pleased  with  the  danger,  when  the  waves  went  high 

He  sought  the  storms  ;  but,  for  a  calm  unfit, 

Would  steer  too  nigh  the  sands  to  boast  his  wit.* 


NOTES.  —  Line  3.  close  designs,  secret 
plots. 

4.  turbulent  of  wit  =  a  turbulent  spirit. 

6.  In  power.  Shaftesbury  had  been 
Lord-chancellor. — disgrace :  he 
was  at  this  time  in  the  Tower 
awaiting  trial  on  a  charge  of 
high-treason,  of  which  crime  he 
was,  however,  triumphantly  ac- 


quitted a  short  time  after  the 
first  publication  of  Dryden's 
poem. 

8.  pygmy  body.    Shaftesbury  was  very 

small  in  stature. 

9.  o'er-informed,  over-filled,  over-ani- 

mated. 

13.  to  show  his  wit,  in  order  to  show 
his  skill. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-9.  Express  briefly  in  your  own  language  the  quali- 
ties ascribed  to  Achitophel  in  the  first  nine  lines. 

10.  A  daring  pilot.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  20.)  Show 
how  the  metaphor  is  carried  out  in  the  subsequent  lines. 

13.  to  show  (=  in  order  to  show),  adverbial  element :  what  does  it  modify  ? 


112 


DRYDEN. 


Great  wits  *  are  sure  to  madness  near  allied, 

And  thin  partitions  do  their  bounds  divide ; 

Else  why  should  he,  with  wealth  and  honors  blest, 

Refuse  his  age  the  needful  hours  of  rest  ? 

Punish  a  body  which  he  could  not  please, 

Bankrupt  of  life,  yet  prodigal  of  ease  ? 

And  all  to  leave  what  with  his  toil  he  won 

To  that  unfeathered,  two-legged  thing,  a  son. — 

In  friendship  false,  implacable  in  hate, 

Resolved  to  ruin  or  to  rule  the  state. 

To  compass  this  the  triple  bond  he  broke, 

The  pillars  of  the  public  safety  shook, 

And  fitted  Israel  for  a  foreign  yoke : 

Then,  seized  with  fear,  yet  still  affecting  fame, 

Usurped  a  patriot's  all-atoning  *  name  ; 

So  easy  still  it  proves,  in  factious  times, 

With  public  zeal  to  cancel  private  crimes. 

How  safe  is  treason,  and  how  sacred  ill, 

Where  none  can  sin  against  the  people's  will ; 

Where  crowds  can  wink,  and  no  offence  be  known, 

Since  in  another's  guilt  they  find  their  own ! 


14.  Great  wits,  great  intellect. 

17.  his  age:  that  is,  his  old  age. 

19.  Bankrupt  of  life,  etc. :  that  is,  "why 
should  he,  with  a  ruined  consti- 
tution, prodigally  sacrifice  his 
ease." 

21.  unfeathered,  two-legged  thing.  Plato 
humorously  defined  man  as  "  a 
biped  without  feathers."  Dry- 
den  appropriates  it  for  the  pur- 
pose of  ribaldry,  and  makes  a 


pointless  line,  the  only  one  in 
the  piece. 

24.  the  triple  bond.  The  alliance  of 
England,  Holland,  and  Sweden 
against  France  (1667).  Shaftes- 
bury  was  in  no  way  responsible 
for  its  "  breaking,"  and  the  line 
is  a  slander. 

26.  foreign  yoke.  The  alliance  in  1670 
•with  France. 

28.  all-atoning,  all-reconciling. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 17.  age  ...  hours.     Syntax  of  these  words  ? 
23.  Resolved.     Supply  the  ellipsis.     "To  ruin  or  to  rule,"  would  this  in 
prose  be  the  best  order  of  the  antithesis  ? 

25,  26.  What  two  examples  of  metaphor  in  these  lines  ? 
31-34.  What  kind  of  sentence  is  the  last? 


TWO  PORTRAITS  IN  AQUA-FORTIS. 
II.— ZIMRI   (THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM), 

Some  of  their  chiefs  were  princes  of  the  land ; 
In  the  first  rank  of  these  did  Zimri  stand, 
A  man  so  various  that  he  seemed  to  be 
Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome  :* 
Stiff  in  opinions,*  always  in  the  wrong, 
Was  everything  by  starts,  and  nothing  long ; 
But  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon 
Was  chemist,  fiddler,  statesman,  and  buffoon.* 
Blest  madman,  who  could  every  hour  .employ 
With  something  new  to  wish  or  to  enjoy! 
Railing  and  praising  were  his  usual  themes, 
And  both,  to  show  his  judgment,  in  extremes  : 
So  over-violent  or  over-civil 
That  every  man  with  him  was  god  or  devil. 
In  squandering  wealth  was  his  peculiar  art ; 
Nothing  went  unrewarded  but  desert. 
Beggared  by  fools  whom  still  he  found  too  late, 


3.  various:    that    is,   of  such    diverse 

tastes  and  talents. 

4.  one  —  one     person  ;     epitome,    an 

abridgment,  a  compendium. 
8.  Tmffoon.     This  trait  is  amplified  by 
Pope  in  a  brilliant  characteri- 


zation of  this  same  Bucking- 
ham : 

"  Or  just  as  gay  at  council  in  a  ring 
Of  mimicked  statesmen  and  their  merry  king." 

17.  still  he  found  too  late:  that  is, ever 
he  found  out  too  late. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 6.  Was  everything,  etc.  How  is  this  general  or  ab- 
stract statement  carried  out  and  emphasized  by  specification  in  subsequent 
lines  ? 

8.  Was  chemist,  etc.  What  pairs  of  nouns  contrast  with  each  other  ?  What 
is  the  effect? 

12.  Supply  the  ellipsis  in  this  line. 

13.  over-violent  . .  .  over-civil.     How  is  each  conception  carried  out  in  the 
next  line  ? 

15.  Transpose  this  line  into  the  prose  order. 

16.  Observe  the  terrible  sting  in  this  line. 

8 


H4  DRYDEN. 

He  had  his  jest,  and  they  had  his  estate. 

He  laughed  himself  from  court ;  then  sought  relief 

By  forming  parties,  but  could  ne'er  be  chief : 

For,  spite  of  him,  the  weight  of  business  fell 

On  Absalom  and  wise  Achitophel ; 

Thus  wicked  but  in  will,  of  means  bereft, 

He  left  not  faction,  but  of  that  was  left. 


22.  Absalom,  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  son  of  Charles  II. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 18.  He  had  his  jest, etc.  What  is  the  figure?  (See 
Def.  18.) 

Dryden,  in  his  Essay  on  Satire,  says  :  "  How  easy  it  is  to  call  rogue  and  vil- 
lain, and  that  wittily  !  but  how  hard  to  make  a  man  appear  a  fool,  a  blockhead, 
or  a  knave  without  using  any  of  these  opprobrious  names  !  There  is  a  vast 
difference  between  the  slovenly  butchering  of  a  man  and  the  fineness  of  stroke 
that  separates  the  head  from  the  body,  and  leaves  it  standing  in  its  place.  .  .  . 
The  character  of  Zimri,  in  my  Absalom  and  Achitophel,  is,  in  my  opinion,  worth 
the  whole  poem.  It  is  not  bloody,  but  it  is  ridiculous  enough." 

Show,  in  any  point,  the  application  of  this  remark  to  the  characterization  of 
Buckingham. 


VII. 

JONATHAN   SWIFT. 

1667-1745. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  LORD  JEFFREY.1 

i.  The  distinguishing  feature  of  Swift's  writings  is  the  force 
and  the  vehemence  of  the  invective  in  which  they  abound — the 
copiousness,  the  steadiness,  the  perseverance,  and  the  dexterity 

1  Cfatical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays  by  Lord  Jeffrey. 


u6  SWIFT. 

with  which  abuse  and  ridicule  are  showered  upon  the  adversary. 
This,  we  think,  was,  beyond  all  doubt,  Swift's  great  talent,  and 
the  weapon  by  which  he  made  himself  formidable.  He  was, 
without  exception,  the  greatest  and  most  efficient  libeller  that 
ever  exercised  the  trade ;  and  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree 
all  the  qualifications  which  it  requires — a  clear  head,  a  cold 
heart,  a  vindictive  temper,  no  admiration  of  noble  qualities,  no 
sympathy  with  suffering,  not  much  conscience,  not  much  consis- 
tency, a  ready  wit,  a  sarcastic  humor,  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  baser  parts  of  human  nature,  and  a  complete  familiarity  with 
everything  that  is  low,  homely,  and  familiar  in  language. 

2.  These  were  his  gifts,  and  he  soon  felt  for  what  ends  they 
were  given.     Almost  all  his  works  are  libels — generally  upon  in- 
dividuals, sometimes  upon  sects   and  parties,  sometimes  upon 
human  nature.     Whatever  be  his  end,  however,  personal  abuse — 
direct,  vehement,  unsparing  invective — is  his  means.     It  is  his 
sword  and  his  shield,  his  panoply  and  his  chariot  of  war.     In 
all  his  writings,  accordingly,  there  is  nothing  to  raise  or  exalt 
our  notions  of  human  nature,  but  everything  to  vilify  and  de- 
grade. 

3.  Though  a  great  polemic,  he  makes  no  use  of  general  princi- 
ples, nor  ever  enlarges  his  views  to  a  wide  or  comprehensive 
conclusion.      Everything   is   particular  with   him,  and,  for   the 
most  part,  strictly  personal.     To  make  amends,  however,  we  do 
think  him  quite  without  a  competitor  in  personalities.     With  a 
quick  and  sagacious  spirit,  and  a  bold  and  popular  manner,  he 
joins  an  exact  knowledge  of  all  the  strong  and  the  weak  parts 
of  every  cause  he  has  to  manage  ;   and,  without  the  least  re- 
straint from  delicacy,  either  of  taste  or  of  feeling,  he  seems  al- 
ways to  think  the  most  effectual  blows  the  most  advisable,  and 
no  advantage  unlawful  that  is  likely  to  be  successful  for  the  mo- 
ment.   Disregarding  all  laws  of  polished  hostility,  he  uses  at  one 
and  the  same  moment  his  sword  and  his  poisoned  dagger,  his 
hands  and  his  teeth,  and  his  envenomed  breath — and  does  not 
even  scruple,  upon  occasion,  to  imitate  his  own  Yahoos,  by  dis- 
charging on  his  unhappy  victims  a  shower  of  filth  from  which 
neither  courage  nor  dexterity  can  afford  any  protection. 

4.  The  Voyages  of  Captain  'Lemuel  Gulliver  is  indisputably 
his  greatest  work.     The  idea  of  making  fictitious  travels  the 


JEFFREY'S   CHARACTERIZATION  OF  SWIFT.          I17 

vehicle  of  satire  as  well  as  of  amusement  is  at  least  as  old  as 
Lucian,  but  has  never  been  carried  into  execution  with  such 
success,  spirit,  and  originality  as  in  this  celebrated  performance. 
The  brevity,  the  minuteness,  the  homeliness,  the  unbroken  seri- 
ousness of  the  narrative,  all  give  a  character  of  truth  and  sim- 
plicity to  the  work,  which  at  once  palliates  the  extravagance  of 
the  picture,  and  enhances  the  effect  of  those  weighty  reflections 
and  cutting  severities  in  which  it  abounds.  Yet,  though  it  is 
probable  enough  that  without  those  touches  of  satire  and  obser- 
vation the  work  would  have  appeared  childish  and  preposterous, 
we  are  persuaded  that  it  pleases  chiefly  by  the  novelty  and  vivac- 
ity of  the  extraordinary  pictures  it  presents,  and  the  entertain- 
ment we  receive  from  following  the  fortunes  of  the  traveller  in 
his  several  extraordinary  adventures.  The  greater  part  of  the 
wisdom  and  satire,  at  least,  appears  to  us  to  be  extremely  vulgar 
and  commonplace ;  and  we  have  no  idea  that  they  could  possi- 
bly appear  either  impressive  or  entertaining  if  presented  without 
these  accompaniments. 

5.  Of  Swift's  style,  it  has  been  usual  to  speak  with  great,  and, 
we  think,  exaggerated,  praise.     It  is  less  mellow  than  Dryden's, 
less  elegant  than  Pope's  or  Addison's,  less  free  and  noble  than 
Lord  Bolingbroke's,  and  utterly  without  the  glow  and  loftiness 
which  belonged  to  our  earlier  masters.     It  is  radically  a  low  and 
homely  style — without  grace,  and  without  affectation,  and  chiefly 
remarkable  for  a  great  choice  and  profusion  of  common  words 
and  expressions.     Other  writers  who  have  used  a  plain  and  di- 
rect style  have  been  for  the  most  part  jejune  and  limited  in  their 
diction,  and  generally  give  us  an  impression  of  the  poverty  as 
well  as  the  tameness  of  their  language ;  but  Swift,  without  ever 
trespassing  into  figured  or  poetical  expressions,  or  even  employ- 
ing a  word  that  can  be  called  fine  or  pedantic,  has  a  prodigious 
variety  of  good  set  phrases  always  at  his  command,  and  displays 
a  sort  of  homely  richness,  like  the  plenty  of  an  old  English  din- 
ner, or  the  wardrobe  of  a  wealthy  burgess. 

6.  In  humor  and  in  irony,  and  in  the  talent  of  debasing  and 
defiling  what  he  hated,  we  join  with  all  the  world  in  thinking  the 
Dean  of  St.  Patrick's  without  a  rival.     His  humor,  though  suf- 
ficiently marked  and  peculiar,  is  not  to  be  easily  defined.     The 
nearest  description  we  can  give  of  it  would  make  it  consist  in 


Ii8  SWIFT. 

expressing  sentiments  the  most  absurd  and  ridiculous,  the  most 
shocking  and  atrocious,  or  sometimes  the  most  energetic  and 
original,  in  a  sort  of  composed,  calm,  and  unconscious  way,  as  if 
they  were  plain,  undeniable,  commonplace  truths,  which  no  per- 
son could  dispute,  or  expect  to  gain  credit  by  announcing,  and  in 
maintaining  them  always  in  the  gravest  and  most  familiar  lan- 
guage, with  a  consistency  which  somewhat  palliates  their  extrav- 
agance, and  a  kind  of  perverted  ingenuity  which  seems  to  give 
pledge  for  their  sincerity.  The  secret,  in  short,  seems  to  consist 
in  employing  the  language  of  humble 'good  sense,  and  simple,  un- 
doubting  conviction,  to  express  in  their  honest  nakedness  senti- 
ments which  it  is  usually  thought  necessary  to  disguise  under  a 
thousand  pretences,  or  truths  which  are  usually  introduced  with 
a  thousand  apologies. 


POPE'S  LINES  ON   SWIFT. 

O  thou  !  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,1  Drapier,2  BickerstafT,3  or  Gulliver!4 
Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes'6  serious  air, 
Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais'6  easy-chair, 
Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind, 
Or  thy  grieved  country's  copper  chains  unbind ; 
From  thy  Bceotia,  though  her  power  retires, 
Mourn  not,  my  Swift,  at  aught  our  realm  acquires. 
Here  pleased  behold  her  mighty  wings  outspread 
To  hatch  a  new  Saturnian  age  of  lead. 

1  Dean,  because  c.ean  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  Dublin. 
a  Drapier,  because  he  signed  the  name  M.  B.  Drapier  to  a  series  of  wonder- 
fully vigorous  letters  on  a  local  political  subject. 

3  Bickerstaif,  because  under  the  name  of  Isaac  Bickerstaif  he  wrote  an  amus- 
ing mystification  in  regard  to  astrology. 

4  Gulliver,  because  author  of  Gulliver's  Travels. 

5  Cervantes,  the  author  of  Don  Quixote. 

6  Rabelais,  the  greatest  of  French  humorists. 


THE  ACADEMY  OF  LAG  ADO. 


119 


THE   ACADEMY  OF   LAGADO. 

[INTRODUCTION.  —  The  following  extract  is  from  Part  III.  of  Gulliver's 
Travels,  the  "  Voyage  to  Laputa."  The  feigned  Laputa,  or  flying  island, 
seems  to  be  located,  by  Swift,  off  the  coast  of  China,  and  Lagado,  the  seat  of 
the  Academy  described,  was  the  chief  city  of  the  kingdom.  The  aim  of  Swift 
in  this  piece  is  to  satirize  the  knavish  "projectors"  (inventors)  and  the  quack 
philosophers,  both  so  numerous  in  his  day.  Gulliver's  Travels  was  first  pub- 
lished in  1726.] 

i.  I  was  received  very  kindly  by  the  warden,  and  went  for 
many  days  to  the  academy.  Every  room  has  in  it  one  or  more 
projectors,  and  I  believe  I  could  not  be  in  fewer  than  five  hun- 
dred rooms.  The  first  man  I  saw  was  of  a  meagre  *  aspect,  with 
sooty  hands  and  face,  his  hair  and  beard  long,  ragged,  and  singed  5 
in  several  places.  His  clothes,  shirt,  and  skin  were  all  of  the 
same  color.  He  had  been  eight  years  upon  a  project  for  ex- 
tracting sunbeams  out  of  cucumbers,*  which  were  to  be  put  in 
vials  hermetically  sealed,  and  let  out  to  warm  the  air  in  raw,  in- 
clement summers.  He  told  me  he  did  not  doubt  in  eight  years  fQ 
more  that  he  should  be  able  to  supply  the  governor's  gardens 


NOTES. — Line  I.  the  warden :  properly 
the  keeper  of  a  mad-house,  but 
applied  satirically  by  Swift  to 
the  superintendent  of  the  La- 
gado Academy,  the  pursuits  of 


whose  students  sufficiently  pro- 
claim them  to  be  lunatics. 

3.  projectors,  inventors. 

4.  meagre,  thin. 

7.  eight  years  upon.     Supply  engaged. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-17-  Of  the  seven  sentences  in  the  first  paragraph, 
one  is  simple,  three  are  complex,  and  three  are  compound :  select  those  of 
each  type. — Is  the  order  of  words  in  the  sentences  direct  or  rhetorical  ?  (See 
Defs.  44,  45.) 

8.  sunbeams  out  of  cucumbers.  What  class  of  persons  does  Swift  intend  to 
satirize  in  the  description  of  the  genius  who  was  engaged  on  the  project  for 
"  extracting  sunbeams  out  of  cucumbers  ?" — Considering  that  the  success  of 
the  satire  turns  on  the  extreme  absurdity  of  the  schemes  on  which  the  pro- 
jectors were  engaged,  what  do  you  think  as  to  the  aptness  of  this  example  ? 
Point  out,  in  this  paragraph,  some  touches  characteristic  of  the  whole  class  of 
chimerical  inventors. 

10,  ii.  In  eight  years  more.  Place  this  adverbial  phrase  in  a  position  that 
shall  be  better  by  being  nearer  the  word  it  modifies. 


I2O 


SWIFT. 


with  sunshine  at  a  reasonable  rate ;  but  he  complained  that  his 
stock  was  low,  and  entreated  me  to  give  him  something  as  an  en- 
couragement to  ingenuity,  especially  since  this  had  been  a  very 
dear  season  for  cucumbers.  I  made  him  a  small  present,  for  my  15 
lord  had  furnished  me  with  money  on  purpose,  because  he  knew 
their  practice  of  begging  from  all  who  go  to  see  them. 

2.  I  saw  another  at  work  to  calcine  ice  into  gunpowder,  who 
likewise  showed  me  a  treatise  he  had  written  concerning  the 
malleability  of  fire,  which  he  intended  to  publish.  20 

3.  There  was  a  most  ingenious  architect,  who  had  contrived  a 
new  method  of  building  houses,  by  beginning  at  the  roof  and 
working  downward  to  the  foundation  ;  which  he  justified  to  me 
by  the  like  practice  of  those  two  prudent  insects,  the  bee  and  the 
spider.  25 

4.  In  another  department,  I  was  highly  pleased  with  a  projec- 
tor who  had  found  a  device  of  ploughing  the  ground  with  hogs, 
to  save  the  charges  of  ploughs,  cattle,  and  labor.     The  method 
is  this  :  In  an  acre  of  ground  you  bury,  at  six  inches  distance, 
and  eight  deep,  a  quantity  of  acorns,  dates,  chestnuts,  and  other  3o 
mast*  or  vegetables,  whereof  these  animals  are  fondest.     Then 
you  drive  six  hundred  or  more  of  them  into  the  field,  where  in  a 


12,  13.  his  stock:  that  is,  his  stock  of 

sunbeams. 
15,  16.  my  lord:   that  is,  the  King  of 

Laputa. 
1 8.  calcine,  to  reduce  to  a  powder  by 

the  action  of  heat. 


20.  malleability,  the  quality  of  being 
malleable,  or  extended  by  ham- 
mering. 

28.  charges,  cost. 

31.  mast,  the  fruit  of  the  oak,  beech,  or 
other  forest  trees. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 18.  calcine.  Define  this  word,  and  state  from  what 
the  aptness  of  its  employment  here  arises.  Would  a  generic  term,  such  as 
"  change  "•  or  "  convert,"  be  as  felicitous  ? — who.  Notice  the  distance  of  the 
relative  pronoun  from  its  antecedent,  and  improve  the  sentence  by  breaking  it 
up  into  two. 

21.  ingenious.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  26.) — By  what  two 
examples  did  this  projector  justify  his  new  method  of  building  ?  Note  the  ele- 
ment of  the  absurd  in  this. 

26-37.  In  another  department .  .  .  improvement.  In  the  device  of  ploughing 
by  hogs,  point  how  by  the  mention  of  minute  details  and  exact  figures,  the  au- 
thor gives  verisimilitude  to  the  mad  project. — With  what  ironical  touch  does 
the  paragraph  close  ? 


THE  ACADEMY  OF  LAG  A  DO. 


121 


few  days  they  will  root  up  the  whole  ground  in  search  of  their 
food,  and  make  it  fit  for  sowing.     It  is  true,  upon  experiment, 
they  found  the  charge  and  trouble  very  great,  and  they  had  little  ss 
or  no  crop.     However,  it  is  not  doubted  that  this  invention  may 
be  capable  of  great  improvement. 

5.  There  was  an  astronomer  who  had  undertaken  to  place  a 
sundial  upon  the  great  weathercock  in  the  town-house  by  ad- 
justing the  annual  and  diurnal  motions  of  the  earth  and  sun  so  *a 
as  to  answer  and  coincide  with  all  accidental  turnings  of  the 
wind.     I  visited  many  other  apartments,  but  shall  not  trouble 
my  readers  with  all  the  curiosities  I  observed,  being  studious  of 
brevity. 

6.  We  crossed  a  walk  to  the  other  part  of  the  academy,  where,  45 
as  I  have  already  said,  the  projectors  in  speculative  learning  re- 
sided.    The  first  professor  I  saw  was  in  a  very  large  room,  with 
forty  pupils  about  him.     After  salutation,  observing  me  to  look 
earnestly  upon  a  frame  which  took  up  the  greatest  part  of  both 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  room,  he  said  perhaps  I  might  s° 
wander  to  see  him  employed  in  a  project  for  improving  specula- 
tive knowledge   by  practical   mechanical   operations ;  but   the 
world  would  soon  be  sensible  of  its  usefulness,  and  he  flattered 
himself  that  a  more  noble,  exalted  thought  never  sprang  in  any 
other  man's  head.     Every  one  knows  how  laborious  the  usual  ss 
method  is  of  attaining  to  arts  and  sciences ;  whereas,  by  his  con- 
trivance, the  most  ignorant  person,  at  a  reasonable  charge,  and 


46.  speculative  learning.  The  term  is 
used  in  contrast  with  the  practi- 
cal pursuits  of  the  projectors. 


47.  large  room.  "  Large,"  perhaps,  in 
allusion  to  the  vastness  of  the 
domain  of  speculation. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 40.  annual . . .  sun.  We  are  not  to  look  for  astro- 
nomical accuracy  in  this  satirical  description :  otherwise  what  should  we  say 
in  regard  to  Swift's  speaking  of  the  "  annual  and  diurnal  motions  of  the  earth 
and  sun  ?" 

45-81.  Give  synonyms  of  the  following  words  in  paragraph  6:  "resided" 
(46,47);  "salutation"  (48);  "wonder"  (51);  "employed"  (51);  "exalted" 
(54) ;  "  contrivance  "  (56,  57) ;  "  assistance  "  (59,  60) ;  "  slender  "  (65) ;  "  com- 
mand "(70);  "shifted "(80). 

48,  observing  me  to  look.     Modernize  this  expression. 


122  SWIFT. 

with  a  little  bodily  labor,  may  write  books  in  philosophy,  poetry, 
politics,  laws,  mathematics,  and  theology,  without  the  least  assist- 
ance from  genius   or  study.     He    then    led  me  to   the  frame,  6c 
about  the  sides  whereof  all  his  pupils  stood  in  ranks.     It  was 
twenty  feet   square,  placed  in   the  middle  of  the  room.     The 
superficies  was   composed  of  several  bits   of  wood,  about  the 
bigness  of  a  die,  but  some  larger  than  others.     They  were  all 
linked  together  by  slender  wires.      These  bits  of  wood  were65 
covered,  on  every  square,  with  papers  pasted  on  them  ;  and  on 
these  papers  were  written  all  the  words  of  their  language,  in 
their  several  moods,  tenses,  and  declensions,  but  without  any 
order.     The  professor  then  desired  me  to  observe,  foi  he  was 
going  to  set  his  engine  at  work.     The  pupils,  at  his  command,  70 
took  each  of  them  hold  of  an  iron  handle,  whereof  there  were 
forty  fixed  around  the  edges  of  the  frame  ;  and  giving  them  a 
sudden  turn,  the  whole  disposition  of  the   words  was  entirely 
changed.     He  then  commanded   six-and-thirty  of  the   lads  to 
read  the  several  lines  softly,  as  they  appeared  upon  the  frame ;  75 
and  where  they  found  three  or  four  words  together  that  might 
make  part  of  a  sentence,  they  dictated  to  the  four  remaining 
boys,  who  were  scribes.     This  work  was  repeated  three  or  four 
times,  and  at  every  turn  the  engine  was  so  contrived  that  the 
words  shifted  into  new  places  as  the  square  bits  of  wood  moved  SQ 
upside  down. 

7.  Six  hours  a  day  the  young  students  were  employed  in  this  la- 
bor; and  the  professor  showed  me  several  volumes  in  large  folio,* 
already  collected,  of  broken  sentences,  which  he  intended  to  piece 
together,  and  out  of  those  rich  materials  to  give  the  world  a  85 
complete  body  of  all  arts  and  sciences ;  which,  however,  might 


63.  superficies,  surface. 

64.  die,  singular  of  dice. 

73.  disposition,  arrangement. 


83.  folio,  a  book  in  sheets  once  folded, 
a  book  of  the  largest  size 
made. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 62-64,  The  superficies  .  .  .  others.  Analyze  this 
sentence. 

78-81.  This  work  . .  .  down.  Rewrite  this  sentence,  substituting  synonymou* 
words  wherever  possible. 

82.  hours.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  "  hours  ?" 

82-90.  Give  an  example  of  an  epithet  used  ironically  in  this  sentence. 


THE   ACADEMY  OF  LAG  ADO.  I23 

be  still  improved,  and  much  expedited,  if  the  public  would  raise 
a  fund  for  making  and  employing  five  hundred  such  frames  in 
Lagado,  and  oblige  the  managers  to  contribute  in  common  their 
several  collections.  He  assured  me  that  this  invention  had  em-  oa 
ployed  all  his  thoughts  from  his  youth ;  that  he  had  emptied  the 
whole  vocabulary  into  his  frame,  and  made  the  strictest  compu- 
tation of  the  general  proportion  there  is  in  books  between  the 
number  of  particles,  nouns,  and  verbs,  and  other  parts  of  speech. 

8.  I  made   my  humblest  acknowledgment  to  this   illustrious  95 
person  for  his  great  communicativeness,  and  promised,  if  ever  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  return  to  my  native  country,  that  I  would 
do  him  justice  as  the  sole  inventor  of  this  wonderful  machine. 

I  told  him,  although  it  were  the  custom  of  our  learned  in  Europe 
to  steal  inventions  from  each  other,  who  had  thereby  at  least  100 
this  advantage,  that  it  became  a  controversy  which  was  the  right 
owner,  yet  I  would  take  such  caution  that  he  should  have  the 
honor  entire,  without  a  rival. 

9.  In  the  school  of  political  projectors,  I  was  but  ill  entertain- 
ed ;  the  professors  appearing,  in  my  judgment,  wholly  out  of  their  tos 
senses,  which  is  a  scene  that  never  fails  to  make  me  melancholy. 
These  unhappy  people  were  proposing  schemes  for  persuading 
monarchs  to  choose  favorites  upon  the  score  of  their  wisdom, 
capacity,  and  virtue  ;  of  teaching  ministers  to  consult  the  public 
good  ;  of  rewarding  merit,  great  abilities,  and  eminent  services  ;  no 
of  instructing  princes  to  know  their  true  interest,  by  placing  it 
on  the  same  foundation  with  that  of  their  people  ;  of  choosing 
for  employments  persons  qualified  to  exercise  them  ;  with  many 
other  wild,  impossible  chimeras  that  never  entered  before  into 
the  heart  of  man  to  conceive,  and  confirmed  in  me  the  old  ob-  n5 
servation,  "  that  there  is  nothing  so  extravagant  and  irrational 
which  some  philosophers  have  not  maintained  for  truth." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 99.  nere.     In  what  mood  is  this  verb? 

104-117.  In  the  school .  . .  truth.  State  in  your  own  language  the  aims  of 
the  political  projectors.  These  are  characterized  as  "chimeras:"  explain 
this  term.  What  would  be  the  condition  of  a  country  in  which  these  aims 
were  realized  ? 


VIII. 

JOSEPH   ADDISON. 

1672-1719. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  MACAULAY. 

i.  To  Addison  we  are  bound  by  a  sentiment  as  much  like  af- 
fection as  any  sentiment  can  be  which  is  inspired  by  one  who 
has  been  sleeping  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  Westminster  Ab- 


MACAULAY'S   CHARACTERIZATION  OF  ADDISON.     125 

bey. l  We  trust,  however,  that  this  feeling  will  not  betray  us  into 
that  abject  idolatry  which  we  have  often  had  occasion  to  repre- 
hend in  others,  and  which  seldom  fails  to  make  both  the  idola- 
ter and  the  idol  ridiculous.  A  man  of  genius  and  virtue  is  but  a 
man.  All  his  powers  cannot  be  equally  developed ;  nor  can  we 
expect  from  him  perfect  self-knowledge.  We  need  not,  there- 
fore, hesitate  to  admit  that  Addison  has  left  us  some  composi- 
tions which  do  not  rise  above  mediocrity  —  some  heroic  poems 
hardly  equal  to  ParnelPs,  some  criticism  as  superficial  as  Dr. 
Blair's,  and  a  tragedy  not  very  much  better  than  Dr.  Johnson's. 
It  is  praise  enough  to  say  of  a  writer  that  in  a  high  department 
of  literature,  in  which  many  eminent  writers  have  distinguished 
themselves,  he  has  had  no  equal ;  and  this  may  with  strict  justice 
be  said  of  Addison. 

2.  It  is  probable  that  Addison,  when  he  sent  across  St.  George's 
Channel  his  first  contribution  to  the  Tatler,*  had  no  notion  of 
the  extent  and  variety  of  his  own  powers.    He  was  the  possessor 
of  a  vast  mine,  rich  with  a  hundred  ores.     But  he  had  been  ac- 
quainted only  with  the  least  precious  part  of  his  treasures,  and 
had  hitherto  contented  himself  with  producing  sometimes  cop- 
per, and  sometimes  lead,  intermingled  with  a  little  silver.    All  at 
once,  and  by  mere  accident,  he  had  lighted  on  an  inexhaustible 
vein  of  pure  gold.     The  mere  choice  and  arrangement  of  his 
words  would  have  sufficed  to  make  his  essays  classical.     For 
never,  not  even  by  Dryden,  not  even  by  Temple,  had  the  English 
language  been  written  with  such  sweetness,  grace,  and  facility. 

3.  As  a  moral  satirist,  Addison   stands   unrivalled.      In  wit, 
properly  so  called,  he  was  not  inferior  to  Cowley  or  Butler.    The 
still  higher  faculty  of  invention  he  possessed  in  still  larger  meas- 
ure.    The  numerous  fictions,  generally  original,  often  wild  and 
grotesque,  but  always  singularly  graceful  and  happy,  which  are 

1  This  was  written  by  Macaulay  in  1843.  He  himself,  sixteen  years  after- 
wards (1859),  was  laid  to  sleep,  near  Addison,  in  the  same  famous  mausoleum 
of  England's  illustrious  dead. 

a  The  Tatler — the  forerunner  of  the  Spectator — was  a  periodical  paper  started 
in  1709  by  Richard  Steele,  who  had  been  Addison's  schoolfellow.  When  its 
publication  began,  Addison  was  in  Ireland  (hence  the  reference  above  to  "St. 
George's  Channel"),  in  official  employment,  and  he  determined  to  give  the 
new  literary  venture  his  assistance. 


126  ADD  ISO  N. 

found  in  his  essays  fully  entitle  him  to  the  rank  of  a  great  poet 
—  a  rank  to  which  his  metrical  compositions  give  him  no  claim. 
As  an  observer  of  life,  of  manners,  of  all  shades  of  human  char- 
acter, he  stands  in  the  first  class.  And  what  he  observed  he  had 
the  art  of  communicating  in  two  widely  different  ways.  He  could 
describe  virtues,  vices,  habits,  whims,  as  well  as  Clarendon.  But 
he  could  do  something  better.  He  could  call  human  beings  into 
existence,  and  make  them  exhibit  themselves.  If  we  wish  to  find 
anything  more  vivid  than  Addison's  best  portraits,  we  must  go 
either  to  Shakespeare  or  to  Cervantes. 

4.  But  what  shall  we  say  of  Addison's  humor — of  his  sense  of 
the  ludicrous ;  of  his  power  of  awakening  that  sense  in  others, 
and  of  drawing  mirth  from  incidents  which  occur  every  day,  and 
from  little  peculiarities  of  temper  and  manner  such  as  may  be 
found  in  every  man  ?     We  feel  the  charm.     We  give  ourselves 
up  to  it.     But  we  strive  in  vain  to  analyze  it. 

5.  Perhaps  the  best  way  of  describing  Addison's  peculiar  pleas- 
antry is  to  compare  it  with  the  pleasantry  of  some  other  great 
satirists.     The  three  most  eminent  masters  of  the  art  of  ridicule 
during  the  eighteenth  century  were,  we  conceive,  Addison,  Swift, 
and  Voltaire.    Which  of  the  three  had  the  greatest  power  of  mov- 
ing laughter  may  be  questioned.     But  each  of  them,  within  his 
own  domain,  was  supreme.     Voltaire  is  the  prince  of  buffoons. 
His  merriment  is  without  disguise  or  restraint.     He  gambols ; 
he  grins;  he  shakes  his  sides ;  he  points  the  finger;  he  turns  up 
the  nose ;  he  shoots  out  the  tongue.    The  manner  of  Swift  is  the 
very  opposite  to  this.     He  moves  laughter,  but  never  joins  in  it. 
He  appears  in  his  works  such  as  he  appeared  in  society.     All 
the  company  are  convulsed  with  merriment ;  while  the  dean,  the 
author  of  all  the  mirth,  preserves  an  invincible  gravity,  and  even 
sourness  of  aspect,  and  gives  utterance  to  the  ir/ost  eccentric  and 
ludicrous  fancies  with  the  air  of  a  man  reading  the  commina- 
tion  service. 

6.  The  manner  of  Addison  is  as  remote  from  that  of  Swift  as 
from  that  of  Voltaire.     He  neither  laughs  out  like  the  French 
wit,  nor,  like  the  Irish  wit,  throws  a  double  portion  of  severity 
into  his  countenance  while  laughing  inly ;  but  preserves  a  look 
peculiarly  his  own — a  look  of  demure  severity,  disturbed  only  by 
an  arch  sparkle  of  the  eye,  an  almost  imperceptible  elevation  of 


MA  CAUL  AY'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  ADD  ISO  I*.     I2y 

the  brow,  an  almost  imperceptible  curl  of  the  lip.  We  own  that 
the  humor  of  Addison  is,  in  our  opinion,  of  a  more  delicious 
flavor  than  the  humor  of  either  Swift  or  Voltaire.  Thus  much, 
at  least,  is  certain,  that  both  Swift  and  Voltaire  have  been  suc- 
cessfully mimicked,  and  that  no  man  has  yet  been  able  to  mimic 
Addison. 

7.  But  that  which  chiefly  distinguishes  Addison  from  Swift, 
from  Voltaire,  from  almost  all  the  other  great  masters  of  ridicule, 
is  the  grace,  the  nobleness,  the  moral  purity,  which  we  find  even 
in  his  merriment.     Severity,  gradually  hardening  and  darkening 
into  misanthropy,  characterizes  the  works  of  Swift.     The  nature 
of  Voltaire  was,  indeed,  not  inhuman ;  but  he  venerated  nothing. 
Neither  in  the  masterpieces  of  art,  nor  in  the  purest  examples  of 
virtue  ;  neither  in  the  Great  First  Cause,  nor  in  the  awful  enigma 
of  the  grave,  could  he  see  anything  but  subjects  for  drollery. 
The  more  solemn  and  august  the  theme,  the  more  monkey-like 
was  his  grimacing  and  chattering.     The  mirth  of  Swift  is  the 
mirth  of  Mephistopheles ;  the  mirth  of  Voltaire  is  the  mirth  of 
Puck.     If,  as  Soame  Jenyns  oddly  imagined,  a  portion  of  the 
happiness  of  seraphim  and  just  men  made  perfect  be  derived 
from  an  exquisite  perception  of  the  ludicrous,  their  mirth  must 
surely  be  none  other  than  the  mirth  of  Addison  —  a  mirth  con- 
sistent with  tender  compassion  for  all  that  is  frail,  and  with  pro- 
found reverence  for  all  that  is  sublime. 

8.  It  is  strange  that  neither  his  opulent  and  noble  widow 1  nor 
any  of  his  powerful  and  attached  friends  should  have  thought  of 
placing  even  a  simple  tablet,  inscribed  with  his  name,  on  the 
walls  of  the  Abbey. 2    It  was  not  till  three  generations  had  laugh- 
ed and  wept  over  his  pages  that  the  omission  was  supplied  by 
the  public  veneration.     At  length,  in  our  own  time,  his  image, 
skilfully  graven,  appeared  in  Poets'  Corner.     It  represents  him, 
as  we  can  conceive  him,  clad  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  freed 
from  his  wig,  stepping  from  his  parlor  at  Chelsea  into  his  trim 
little  garden,  with  the  account  of  the  Everlasting  Club,  or  the 
Loves  of  Hilpa  and  Shalum,  just  finished  for  the  next  day's  Spec- 

1  In  1716,  three  years  before  his  death,  Addison  married  the  Countess-dow- 
ager of  Warwick,  who  survived  him.  She  is  said  to  have  been  somewhat  of 
a  shrew. 

3  Westminster  Abbey 


128  ADDISON. 

tator,  in  his  hand.  Such  a  mark  of  respect  was  due  to  the  un- 
sullied statesman,  to  the  accomplished  scholar,  to  the  master  of 
pure  English  eloquence,  to  the  consummate  painter  of  life  and 
manners.  It  was  due,  above  all,  to  the  great  satirist  who  alone 
knew  how  to  use  ridicule  without  abusing  it ;  who,  without  in- 
flicting a  wound,  effected  a  great  social  reform ;  and  who  recon- 
ciled wit  and  virtue,  after  a  long  and  disastrous  separation,  dur- 
ing which  wit  had  been  led  astray  by  profligacy,  and  virtue  by 
fanaticism. 


POPE'S  VENOMED  SHAFT.1 

Peace  to  all  such  ! 2  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles  and  fair  fame  inspires  ; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease  : 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer ; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike ; 


1  This  malevolent  but  most  powerful  characterization  of  Addison,  under 
the  name  of  Atticus  (see  last  line),  appeared  in  the  Prologue  to  Pope's  Satires. 
Addison  and  Pope  had  been  friends,  but  the  bitter  and  suspicious  temper  of 
the  latter  led  to  a  rupture,  and  he  wrote  what  Macaulay  styles  "  the  brilliant 
and  energetic  lines  which  everybody  knows  by  heart,  or  ought  to  know  by 
heart."  Macaulay  adds  :  "  One  charge  which  Pope  has  enforced  with  great 
skill  is  probably  not  without  foundation.  Addison  was,  we  are  inclined  to  be- 
lieve, too  fond  of  presiding  over  a  circle  of  humble  friends.  Of  the  other  im- 
putations scarcely  one  has  been  proved  to  be  just,  and  some  are  certainly 
false.  That  Addison  was  not  in  the  habit  of  '  damning  with  faint  praise ' 
appears  from  innumerable  passages  in  his  writings,  and  from  none  more  than 
those  in  which  he  mentions  Pope.  And  it  is  not  merely  unjust,  but  ridiculous, 
to  describe  a  man  who  made  the  fortune  of  almost  every  one  of  his  intimate 
friends  as  'so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged.' " 

8  By  "  all  such  "  is  meant  the  poetasters  whom  Pope  has  been  unmercifully 
lashing  in  the  previous  part  of  the  poem. 


COVERLEY  HALL. 

Alike  reserved  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  e'en  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged  ; l 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause ; 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise,2 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise  — 
Who  but  must  laugh  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep  if  Atticus  were  he  ? 


SIR   ROGER   DE  COVERLEY. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  Spectator,  from  which  these  papers  of  Addison  are 
taken,  was  a  daily  periodical  started  by  Sir  Richard  Steele  in  1711,  as  a  suc- 
cessor to  the  Tatler.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  a  fictitious  character,  was  repre- 
sented as  one,  of  a  select  club  to  which  Mr.  Spectator  (drawn  for  Addison 
himself)  belonged.  The  members  of  this  club  were  sketched  in  a  paper 
(Spectator  No.  2)  written  by  Steele,  and  here  we  have  the  first  outlines  of  the 
portrait  of  Sir  Roger.  "  Addison  took  the  rude  outlines  into  his  own  hands, 
retouched  them,  colored  them,  and  is,  in  truth,  the  creator  of  the  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  and  the  Will  Honeycomb  with  whom  we  are  all  familiar." — MA- 
CAULAY  :  Essay  on  Addison.} 

I.— COVERLEY   HALL   (SPECTATOR  No:  106). 

i.  Having  often  received  an  invitation  from  my  friend  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley  to  pass  away  a  month  with  him  in  the  coun- 
try, I  last  week  accompanied  him  thither,  and  am  settled  with 
him  for  some  time  at  his  country-house,  where  I  intend  to  form 
several  of  my  ensuing  speculations.  Sir  Roger,  who  is  very  well  s 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  1-5.  Having . . .  speculations.     What  kind  of  sen- 
tence grammatically  considered  ? 

1  "  Obliged :"  pronounced  in  Pope's  time  and  long  afterwards,  obleeged,  in 
the  French  fashion. 

2  "  Raise  "  =  applaud.     The  sting  in  this  allusion  is  that  when  Addison's 
tragedy  of  Cato  was  first  brought  out,  Addison's  managers  are  said  to  have 
filled  the  pit  with  friendly  literary  men  ("wits")  and  lawyers  ("templars" — 
from  the  "  Temple,"  or  Inns  of  Court),  who,  it  was  understood,  would  carry 
the  piece  through  with  applause. 

9 


130 


ADDISON. 


acquainted  with  my  humor,*  lets  me  rise  and  go  to  bed  when  I 
please ;  dine  at  his  own  table  or  in  my  chamber,  as  I  think  fit ; 
sit  still  and  say  nothing  without  bidding  me  be  merry.  When 
the  gentlemen  of  the  country  come  to  see  him,  he  only  shows  me 
at  a  distance.  As  I  have  been  walking  in  his  fields  I  have  ob- 10 
served  them  stealing  a  sight  of  me  over  an  hedge,  and  have  heard 
the  knight  desiring  them  not  to  let  me  see  them,  for  that  I  hated 
to  be  stared  at. 

2.  I  am  the  more  at  ease  in  Sir  Roger's  family  because  it  con- 
sists of  sober  and  staid  persons ;  for  as  the  knight  is  the  best  15 
master  in  the  world,  he  seldom  changes  his  servants ;  and  as  he 
is  beloved  by  all  about  him,  his  servants  never  care  for  leaving 
him.     By  this  means  his  domestics  are  all  in  years,  and  grown 
old  with  their  master.     You  would  take  his  valet  de  chambre  for 
his  brother;  his  butler*  is  gray-headed;  his  groom  is  one  of  the  20 
gravest  men  that  I  ever  have  seen;  and  his  coachman  has  the 
looks  of  a  privy-councillor.    You  see  the  goodness  of  the  master 
even  in  the  old  house-dog,  and  in  a  gray  pad*  that  is  kept  in  the 
stable  with  great  care  and  tenderness  out  of  regard  to  his  past 
services,  though  he  has  been  useless  for  several  years.  25 

3.  I  could  not  but  observe  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  the 
joy  that  appeared  in  the  countenances  of  these  ancient  domes- 
tics upon  my  friend's  arrival  at  his  country-seat.     Some  of  them 


NOTES.  —  Line  6.  humor,  disposition, 
temper. 

11.  an  hedge.     The  use  of  an  before  a 

sounded  h  is  very  common  with 
Addison. 

12.  the  knight:  that  is,  Sir  Roger. 

19.  ralet  de  chambre  [pronounced  val-a 


dZshahm-br],  an  attendant — an- 
glicized and  shortened  into 
valet. 

22.  privy-councillor,  a   member   of  the 

privy  council ;  equivalent  to  our 
cabinet  officer. 

23.  pad,  an  easy-paced  horse. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Give  the  derivation  of  the  word  "  humor  "  (6),  and 
explain  as  here  used. — Derivation  of  "  butler  "  (20)  ?  Of  "  pad  "  (23)  ? 

8-10.  When  the  gentlemen  .  .  .  distance.  What  kind  of  sentence  is  this  rhe- 
torically ? 

II.  stealing  a  sight.     Substitute  an  equivalent  expression. 

15,  16.  best  master,  etc.     What  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  34.) 

18.  and  grown.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

1-25.  State  in  your  own  language  some  of  the  amiable  traits  of  character 
attributed  to  Sir  Roger  in  paragraphs  I  and  2. 

27,  28.  ancient  domestics.     Substitute  synonyms. 


COVERLEY  HALL.  I3I 

could  not  refrain  from  tears  at  the  sight  of  their  old  master; 
every  one  of  them  pressed  forward  to  do  something  for  him,  and  30 
seemed  discouraged  *  if  they  were  not  employed.  At  the  same 
time,  the  good  old  knight,  with  a  mixture  of  the  father  and  the 
master  of  the  family,  tempered*  the  inquiries  after  his  own  af- 
fairs with  several  kind  questions  relating  to  themselves.  This 
humanity  and  good-nature  engages  everybody  to  him,  so  that  35 
when  he  is  pleasant  upon  any  of  them,  all  his  family  are  in  good- 
humor,  and  none  so  much  as  the  person  whom  he  diverts  himself 
with ;  on  the  contrary,  if  he  coughs,  or  betrays  any  infirmity  of 
old  age,  it  is  easy  for  a  stander-by  to  observe  a  secret  concern  in 
the  looks  of  all  his  servants.  40 

4.  My  worthy  friend  has  put  me  under  the  particular  care  of 
his  butler,  who  is  a  very  prudent  man,  and,  as  well  as  the  rest  of 
his  fellow-servants,  wonderfully  desirous  of  pleasing  me,  because 
they  have  often  heard  their  master  talk  of  me  as  of  his  particular 
friend.  45 

5.  My  chief  companion,  when  Sir  Roger  is  diverting  himself  in   ' 
the  woods  or  the  fields,  is  a  very  venerable  man,  who  is  ever  with 
Sir  Roger,  and  has  lived  at  his  house  in  the  nature  of  a  chap- 
lain* above  thirty  years.     This  gentleman  is  a  person  of  good 
sense  and  some  learning,  of  a  very  regular  life  and  obliging  con-  s« 
versation  ;  he  heartily  loves  Sir  Roger,  and  knows  that  he  is 


31.  they.     Strict  grammar  requires  he.    48.  in  the  nature  of.     We  should  now 
33.  tempered,  gently  mingled.  say  "in  the  character  of." 


.  LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  Give  an  Anglo-Saxon  synonym  for  "discouraged" 
(31). — State  the  derivation  of  "tempered"  (33).  Of  "tinged"  (57). — What 
curious  piece  of  history  in  the  word  "  chaplain  "  (48)  ? — What  metaphor  is  in 
the  word  "  insulted  "  (65)  ? 

35.  engages.     What  is  the  subject  ?    Can  the  singular  number  be  defended 
here? 

36.  pleasant  upon.     What  preposition  should  we  now  use  ? 
39.  stander-by.     Give  the  modern  form  of  the  word. 

41-45.  My  worthy  .  .  .  particular  friend.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatical- 
ly?— Give  the  principal  proposition.  Point  out  its  two  adjective  clauses;  its 
adverbial  clause. — What  kind  of  sentence  is  this  rhetorically,  a  period  or  a 
loose  sentence? — Point  out  an  infelicitous  repetition  of  a  word. 

48.  at  his  house.     What  preposition  do  we  now  use  ? 

49~53-  Tnis  gentleman  . .  .  dependent.  Make  an  equivalent  sentence  using 
different  words. 


132 


ADD  ISO  N. 


very  much  in  the  old  knight's  esteem,  so  that  he  lives  in  the 
family  rather  as  a  relation  than  a  dependent. 

6.  I  have  observed  in  several  of  my  papers  that  my  friend  Sir 
Roger,  amidst  all  his  good  qualities,  is  something  of  an  humor-  55 
ist  j  arid  that  his  virtues  as  well  as  imperfections  are,  as  it  were, 
tinged*  by  a  certain  extravagance,  which  makes  them  particu- 
larly his,  and  distinguishes  them  from  those  of  other  men.    This 
cast  of  mind,  as  it  is  generally  very  innocent  in  itself,  so  it  ren- 
ders his  conversation  highly  agreeable,  and  more  delightful  than  60 
the  same  degree  of  sense  and  virtue  would  appear  in  their  com- 
mon and  ordinary  colors.    As  I  was  walking  with  him  last  night, 
he  asked  me  how  I  liked  the  good  man  whom  I  have  just  now 
mentioned  ;  and,  without  staying  for  my  answer,  told  me  that  he 
was  afraid  of  being  insulted  *  with  Latin  and  Greek  at  his  own  6S 
table,  for  which  reason  he  desired  a  particular  friend  of  his  at 
the  university  to  find  him  out  a  clergyman  rather  of  plain  sense 
than  much  learning,  of  a  good  aspect,  a  clear  voice,  a  sociable 
temper,  and,  if  possible,  a  man  that  understood  a  little  of  back- 
gammon.     "My  friend,"  says  Sir  Roger,  "found  me  out  this 70 
gentleman,  who,  besides  the  endowments  required  of  him,  is,  they 
tell  me,  a  good  scholar,  though  he  does  not  show  it.     I  have 
given  him  the  parsonage  of  the  parish ;  and  because  I  know  his 


65.  insulted  with  Latin  and  Greek,  etc. 
In  the  time  of  Sir  Roger,  the 
"fine  old  English  gentleman" 
made  little  pretension  to  learn- 
ing. 

69,  70.  backgammon.  The  word  is 
Welsh  (bach,  little,  and  cammon, 
a  battle),  and  so,  also,  is  proba- 
bly the  game  in  its  origin.  It 


is  mentioned  by  Shakespeare 
under  the  name  of  "  tables." 
73.  the  parsonage,  the  benefice  or  office 
of  parson — not  the  residence — 
is  here  meant.  Various  classes 
of  "  patrons  "  had  the  right  of 
appointing  to  church  benefices. 
Sir  Roger,  as  knight  of  the  shire, 
had  this  right. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 55,  56.  an  humorist.  What  is  the  modern  form  of 
the  article  ? — Is  "  humorist "  here  used  in  a  different  sense  from  its  common 
modern  meaning  ? 

58-62.  This  cast .  .  .  colors.  Point  out  an  instance  of  pleonasm  in  this  sen- 
tence. How  may  the  fault  be  corrected  ? 

67-70.  a  clergyman  .  .  .  backgammon.  What  is  there  humorous  in  Sir  Roger's 
ideal  of  a  clergyman  ? 


COVERLEY  HALL. 


133 


value,  have  settled  upon  him  a  good  annuity*  for  life.  If  he 
outlives  me,  he  shall  find  that  he  was  higher  in  my  esteem  than  73 
perhaps  he  thinks  he  is.  He  has  now  been  with  me  thirty  years, 
and,  though  he  does  not  know  I  have  taken  notice  of  it,  has 
never  in  all  that  time  asked  anything  of  me  for  himself,  though 
he  is  every  day  soliciting  me  for  something  in  behalf  of  one  or 
other  of  my  tenants,  his  parishioners.  There  has  not  been  a  law-  80 
suit  in  the  parish  since  he  has  lived  among  them.  If  any  dispute 
arises,  they  apply  themselves  to.  him  for  the  decision  ;  if  they  do 
not  acquiesce  in  his  judgment,  which  I  think  never  happened 
above  once  or  twice  at  most,  they  appeal  to  me.  At  his  first  set- 
tling with  me,  I  made  him  a  present  of  all  the  good  sermons  85 
which  have  been  printed  in  English,  and  only  begged  of  him  that 
every  Sunday  he  would  pronounce  one  of  them  in  the  pulpit. 
Accordingly,  he  has  digested*  them  into  such  a  series  that  they 
follow  one  another  naturally,  and  make  a  continued  system  of 
practical  divinity."*  90 

7.  As  Sir  Roger  was  going  on  with  his  story,  the  gentleman  we 
were  talking  of  came  up  to  us,  and  upon  the  knight's  asking  him 
who  preached  to-morrow  (for  it  was  Saturday  night),  told  us  the 
Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  in  the  morning,  and  Dr,  South  in  the  after- 


74.  annuity,  yearly  money  allowance. 

88.  digested,  arranged  methodically. 

90.  divinity,  theology. 

94-97.  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  .  .  .  Calamy. 
The  names  mentioned  are  those 
of  eminent  English  divines, 
though,  curiously  enough,  the 
two  greatest  preachers  of  the 


1 7th  century  —  Jeremy  Taylor 
and  Hooker  — are  not  in  the 
list.  Dr.  Barrow's  sermons 
were  of  enormous  length.  One, 
preached  before  the  lord  mayor 
and  aldermen  of  London,  is  said 
to  have  taken  up  three  hours 
and  a  half  in  the  delivery. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Give  the  etymology  of  "annuity"  (74). — Is  "di- 
gested "  (88)  used  in  its  modern  or  in  its  literal  sense  ?  What  is  its  usual 
modern  meaning  ? — What  word  of  Greek  origin  is  synonymous  with  "  divinity  " 
(90)  ?  (See  "  theology  "  in  Glossary.) 

76-84.  He  has  now  ...  to  me.  What  traits  did  Sir  Roger's  chaplain  possess 
in  common  with  the  "village  preacher"  in  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village? 
(See  page  219  of  this  book.) 

92.  upon  the  knight's  asking  him.     Explain  the  form  "asking."     (See  Swin- 
ton's  New  English  Grammar,  §  100,  iv.) 

93.  who  preached  to-morrow.     Would  this  now  be  considered  good  English  ? 

94.  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  ...  Dr.  South.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 


134  ADDISON. 

noon.  He  then  showed  us  his  list  of  preachers  for  the  whole  93 
year,  where  I  saw  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  Archbishop  Til- 
lotson,  Bishop  Saunderson,  Dr.  Barrow,  Dr.  Calamy,  with  several 
living  authors  who  have  published  discourses  of  practical  divin- 
ity. I  no  sooner  saw  this  venerable  man  in  the  pulpit  but  I  very 
much  approved  of  my  friend's  insisting  upon  the  qualifications  i«> 
of  a  good  aspect  and  a  clear  voice ;  for  I  was  so  charmed  with 
:the  gracefulness  of  his  figure  and  delivery,  as  well  as  with  the 
discourses  he  pronounced,  that  I  think  I  never  passed  any  time 
more  to  my  satisfaction.  A  sermon  repeated  after  this  manner 
is  like  the  composition  of  a  poet  in  the  mouth  of  a  graceful  actor.  105 

8.  I  could  heartily  wish  that  more  of  our  country  clergy  would 
follow  this  example,  and,  instead  of  wasting  their  spirits  in  labo- 
rious compositions  of  their  own,  would  endeavor  after  a  hand- 
some elocution  and  all  those  other  talents  that  are  proper  to  en- 
force what  has  been  formed  by  greater  masters.  This  would  not  no 
only  be  more  easy  to  themselves,  but  more  edifying  to  the  people. 


II.— THE  COVERLEY   SABBATH   (SPECTATOR  No.  112). 

i.  I  am  always  very  well  pleased  with  a  country  Sunday,*  and 
think  if  keeping  holy  the  seventh  day  were  only  a  human  institu- 
tion, it  would  be  the  best  method  that  could  have  been  thought 
of  for  the  polishing  and  civilizing  of  mankind.  It  is  certain  the 
country  people  would  soon  degenerate  into  a  kind  of  savages* 
and  barbarians,*  were  there  not  such  frequent  returns  of  a  stated 
time  in  which  the  whole  village  meet  together  with  their  best 


NOTES.  — 2.  only  a  human  =  a  merely  I  7.  Tillage  meet.       "Village"  is  a  col- 
human,  lective  noun  implying  plurality. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 96,  97.  Archbishop  Tillotson  . . .  Calamy.  What  figure 
,  of  speech  is  here  used  ?  (See  Def.  29.) 

10 1.  a  good  aspect ...  a  clear  yoke.  What  words  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
sentence  correspond  with  these  ? 

105.  like  the  composition,  etc.    Show  that  this  is  not  a  simile. 

106-111.  Show  the  touch  of  humor  in  the  concluding  paragraph.  Is  it  quiet 
or  broad  humor  ? 


THE   COVERLEY  SABBATH. 


'35 


faces  and  in  their  cleanliest  habits1*  to  converse  with  one  another 
upon  indifferent  subjects,  hear  their  duties  explained  to  them,  and 
join  together  in  adoration  of  the  Supreme  Being.  Sunday  clears  r« 
away  the  rust  of  the  whole  week,  not  only  as  it  refreshes  in  their 
minds  the  notions  of  religion,  but  as  it  puts  both  the  sexes  upon 
appearing  in  their  most  agreeable  forms  and  exerting  all  such 
qualities  as  are  apt  to  give  them  a  figure  in  the  eye  of  the  village. 
A  country  fellow  distinguishes  himself  as  much  in  the  church- 15 
yard  as  a  citizen  does  upon  the  'Change,  the  whole  parish  poli- 
ties'* being  generally  discussed  in  that  place  either  after  sermon 
or  before  the  bell  rings. 

2.  My  friend  Sir  Roger,  being  a  good  churchman,  has  beauti- 
fied the  inside  of  his  church  with  several  texts  of  his  own  choos-  29 
ing.     He  has  likewise  given  a  handsome  pulpit  cloth,  and  railed 
in  the  communion-table  at  his  own  expense.     He  has  often  told 
me  that  at  his  coming  to  his  estate  he  found  his  parishioners 
very  irregular,  and  that,  in  order  to  make  them  kneel  and  join 
in  the  responses,  he  gave  every  one  of  them  a  hassock*  and  a 25 
Common-Prayer  Book,  and  at  the  same  time  employed  an  itiner- 
ant singing-master,  who  goes  about  the  country  for  that  purpose, 
to  instruct  them  rightly  in  the  tunes  of  the  psalms,  upon  which 
they  now  very  much  value  themselves,  and,  indeed,  outdo  most 
of  the  country  churches  that  I  have  ever  heard.  30 

3.  As  Sir  Roger  is  landlord  to  the  whole  congregation,  he  keeps 
them  in-  very  good  order,  and  will  suffer  nobody  to  sleep  in  it  be- 
sides himself  ;  for  if  by  chance  he  has  been  surprised  into  a  short 
nap  at  sermon,  upon  recovering  out  of  it  he  stands  up  and  looks 
about  him,  and  if  he  sees  anybody  else  nodding,  either  wakes  sj 
them  himself  or  sends  his  servant  to  them.     Several  other  of 


8.  habits,  attire,  clothes. 

12.  puts  .  .  .  upon,  induces. 

1 6.  'Change  =  Exchange. 

16,  17.  politics.  The  word  is  treated 
as  singular,  and  hence  may  take 
the  adjunct  "whole." 

19  churchman  :  that  is,  Episcopalian  as 
distinguished  from  a  Presbyte- 
rian or  Congregationalist :  here 


it  seems  to  signify  a  devoted 
member  of  the  church. 

25.  hassock,  a  thick  mat  on  which  to 
kneel  in  church. 

34.  out  of  it  =  from  it. 

36.  them.  The  antecedent  of  "  them  " 
being  "  anybody  "  (sing.),  him 
should  be  used  according  to 
strict  grammar. 


I36  ADDISON. 

the  old  knight's  particularities  break  out  upon  these  occasions : 
sometimes  he  will  be  lengthening  out  a  verse  in  the  singing 
psalms  half  a  minute  after  the  rest  of  the  congregation  have  done 
with  it ;  sometimes,  when  he  is  pleased  with  the  matter  of  his  de-^o 
votion,  he  pronounces  amen*  three  or  four  times  to  the  same 
prayer ;  and  sometimes  stands  up  when  everybody  else  is  upon 
their  knees  to  count  the  congregation,  or  see  if  any  of  his  tenants 
are  missing. 

4.  I  was  yesterday  very  much  surprised  to  hear  my  old  friend,  45 
in  the  midst  of  the  service,  calling  out  to  one  John  Matthews  to 
mind  what  he  was  about,  and  not  disturb  the  congregation.    This 
John  Matthews,  it  seems,  is  remarkable  for  being  an  idle  fellow, 
and  at  that  time  was  kicking  his  heels  for  his  diversion.     This 
authority  of  the    knight,  though    exerted  in  that  odd  manner  50 
which  accompanies  him  in  all  circumstances  of  life,  has  a  very 
good  effect  upon  the  parishioners,  who  are  not  polite*  enough 
to  see  anything  ridiculous   in  his  behavior;    besides  that,  the 
general  good  sense  and  worthiness  of  his  character  make  his 
friends  observe  these  little  singularities  as  foils  that  rather  set  55 
off  than  blemish  his  good  qualities. 

5.  As  soon  as  the  sermon  is  finished,  nobody  presumes  to  stir 
till  Sir  Roger  is  gone  out  of  the  church.     The  knight  walks  down 
from  his  seat  in  the  chancel  between  a  double  row  of  his  tenants 
that  stand  bowing  to  him  on  each  side ;  and  every  now  and  then  60 
inquires  how  such  a  one's  wife,  or  mother,  or  son,  or  father  do 
whom  he  does  not  see  at  church ;  which  is  understood  as  a  secret 
reprimand  to  the  person  that  is  absent. 

6.  The  chaplain  has  often  told  me  that  upon  a  catechising  day. 
when  Sir  Roger  has  been  pleased  with  a  boy  that  answers  well  6S 
he  has  ordered  a  Bible  to  be  given  him  next  day  for  his  encour- 


37.  particularities,  peculiarities. 
39.  have.     Modern  usage  requires  the 
singular  number. 

52.  polite :  that  is,  in  the  sense  of  the 

"  fine  manners  "  of  the  city. 

53.  besides    that.        Modern    practice 

omits  "  that." 
55.  foils.      A  foil  is   something   that 


"sets  off"  another  thing  to  ad- 
vantage,  so  that  the  phrase 
used  is  somewhat  redundant. 
"  Rather  set  off  than  blemish  " 
is  better  thus  :  "  Set  off  rather 
than  blemish." 

58.  is  gone.     See  page  6,  note  12. 

6 1.  do.     Strict  grammar  requires  does. 


THE   COVER  LEY  SABBATH. 


137 


agement,  and  sometimes  accompanies  it  with  a  flitch  of  bacon  to 
his  mother.  Sir  Roger  has  likewise  added  five  pounds  a  year  to 
the  clerk's*  place;  and,  that  he  may  encourage  the  young  fel- 
lows to  make  themselves  perfect  in  the  church  service,  has  prom- 1* 
ised,  upon  the  death  of  the  present  incumbent,  who  is  very  old, 
to  bestow  it  according  to  merit. 

7.  The  fair  understanding  between  Sir  Roger  and  his  chaplain, 
and  their  mutual  concurrence  in  doing  good,  is  the  more  remark- 
able because  the  very  next  village  is  famous  for  the  differences  75 
and  contentions  that  rise  between  the  parson  and  the  squire,  who 
live  in  a  perpetual  state  of  war.    The  parson  is  always  preaching 
at  the  squire,  and  the  squire,  to  be  revenged  on  the  parson,* 
never  comes  to  church.     The  squire  has  made  all  his  tenants 
atheists  *  and  tithe-stealers  ;   while  the  parson  instructs  them  80 
every  Sunday  in  the  dignity  of  his  order,  and  insinuates  to  them 
in  almost  every  sermon  that  he  is  a  better  man  than  his  patron. 
In  short,  matters  are  come  to  such  an  extremity  that  the  squire 
has  not  said  his  prayers  either  in  public  or  private  this  half  year, 
and  that  the  parson  threatens  him,  if  he  does  not  mend  his  man-  8| 
ners,  to  pray  for  him  in  the  face  of  the  whole  congregation. 

8.  Feuds  of  this  nature,  though  too  frequent  in  the  country, 
are  very  fatal  to  the  ordinary  people,  who  are  so  used  to  be  daz- 
zled with  riches  that  they  pay  as  much  deference  to  the  under- 
standing of  a  man  of  an  estate  as  of  a  man  of  learning ;  and  are  <# 
very  hardly  brought  to  regard  any  truth,  how  important  soever  it 
may  be,  that  is  preached  to  them  when  they  know  there  are  sev- 
eral men  of  five  hundred  a  year  who  do  not  believe  it. 


67.  flitch,  the  side  of  a  hog  salted  and 
cured. 

69.  clerk,  a  parish  officer,  being  a  lay- 
man who  leads  in  reading  the 
responses  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  service. 


80.  tithes,  the  allotment  of  money  to 
the  clergy  for  their  support : 
and  stealers  are  those  who  keep 
these  back. 

91.  yery  hardly:  that  is,  with  great  dif- 
culty. 


ADDIS  ON. 


III.— SIR  ROGER  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY   (SPECTATOR  No.  329). 

1.  My  friend  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  told  me  t'other  night 
that  he  had  been  reading  my  paper  upon  Westminster  Abbey,  in 
which,  says  he,  there  are  a  great  many  ingenious  fancies.     He 
told  me,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  observed  I  had  promised  an- 
other paper  upon  the  tombs,  and  that  he  should  be  glad  to  go 
and  see  them  with  me,  not  having  visited  them  since  he  had  read 
history.     I  could  not,  at  first,  imagine  how  this  came  into  the 
knight's  head,  till  I  recollected  that  he  had  been  very  busy  all 
last  summer  upon  Baker's  Chronicle,  which  he  has  quoted  several 
times  in  his  disputes  with  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  since  his  last  10 
coming  to  town.     Accordingly,  I  promised  to  call  upon  him  the 
next  morning,  that  we  might  go  together  to  the  Abbey. 

2.  I  found  the  knight  under  his  butler's  hands,  who  always 
shaves  him.     He  was  no  sooner  dressed  than  he  called  for  a 
glass  of  the  Widow  Trueby's  water,  which  he  told  me  he  always  15 


1.  t'other  =  the  other  (colloquial). 

2.  my  paper.     In   a   previous   number 

of  the  Spectator  (No.  26)  was  an 
essay  on  Westminster ;  but  it 
is  not  Addison's. — Westminster 
Abbey  is  a  cathedral  in  West- 
minster, which  is  a  borough 
forming  a  part  of  London.  It 
dates  (though  not  in  its  present 
state)  from  the  yth  century  A.D. 
Here  the  British  sovereigns, 
from  Edward  the  Confessor 
to  Queen  Victoria,  have  been 
crowned  ;  here,  also,  are  monu- 
ments to  most  of  the  great  poets, 
and  to  other  illustrious  English- 
men. (For  the  etymology  of 
"  minster  "  and  "  abbey,"  see 
Glossary.) 

9.  Baker's  Chronicle.  The  book  is  en- 
titled Chronicle  of  the  Kings  of 
England.  Its  author,  Sir  Rich- 
ard Baker,  was  born  1568  (four 
years  after  Shakespeare).  The 


work  was  exceedingly  popular 
with  the  squires  of  the  school 
of  Sir  Roger  during  the  I7th 
and  i8th  centuries. 

IO.  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  imaginary  club  to 
which  the  Spectator  and  Sir 
Roger  belonged. 

13.  his  butler's  hands,  who,  etc.  Our 
neater  modern  form  of  state- 
ment would  be  "  the  hands  of 
his  butler,  who,"  etc. 

15.  Widow  Trueby's  water.  "One  of 
the  innumerable  'strong  waters,' 
drunk.it  is  said  (perhaps  libel- 
lously),  chiefly  by  the  fair  sex 
as  an  exhilarant ;  the  excuses 
being  the  colic  and  '  the  vapors.' 
Addison,  who  pretends  in  the 
text  to  find  it  unpalatable,  is  ac- 
cused of  having  been  a  constant 
imbiber  of  the  Widow's  distil- 
lations." —  WILLS  :  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley. 


SIR  ROGER  IN  WESTMINSTER   ABBEY.  I39 

drank  before  he  went  abroad.  He  recommended  to  me  a  dram 
of  it  at  the  same  time  with  so  much  heartiness  that  I  could  not 
forbear  drinking  it.  As  soon  as  I  had  got  it  down  I  found  it 
very  unpalatable ;  upon  which  the  knight,  observing  that  I  had 
made  several  wry  faces,  told  me  that  he  knew  I  should  not  like  20 
it  at  first,  but  that  it  was  the  best  thing  in  the  world  against  the 
stone  or  gravel. 

3.  I  could  have  wished,  indeed,  that  he  had  acquainted  me 
with  the  virtues  of  it  sooner ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  complain, 
and  I  knew  what  he  had  done  was  out  of  good-will.     Sir  Roger  25 
told  me  further  that  he  looked  upon  it  to  be  very  good  for  a  man 
whilst  he  stayed  in  town,  to  keep  off  infection ;  and  that  he  got 
together  a  quantity  of  it  upon  the  first  news  of  the  sickness  be- 
ing at  Dantzic.     When,  of  a  sudden,  turning  short  to  one  of  his 
servants  who  stood  behind  him,  he  bade  him  call  a  hackney- 30 
coach,  and  take  care  it  was  an  elderly  man  that  drove  it. 

4.  He  then  resumed  his  discourse  upon  Mrs.  Trueby's  water, 
telling  me  that  the  Widow  Trueby  was  one  who  did  more  good 
than  all  the  doctors  and  apothecaries  *  in  the  country ;  that  she 
distilled  every  poppy  that  grew  within  five  miles  of  her ;  that  she  35 
distributed  her  water  gratis  *  among  all  sorts  of  people  ;  to  which 
the  knight  added  that  she  had  a  very  great  jointure,  and  that  the 
whole  country  would  fain  *  have  it  a  match  between  him  and  her. 
"And  truly,"  said  Sir  Roger,  "if  I  had  not  been  engaged,  per- 
haps I  could  not  have  done  better."  40 

5.  His  discourse  was  broken  off  by  his  man  telling  him  he  had 
called  a  coach.     Upon  our  going  to  it,  after  having  cast  his  eye 
upon  the  wheels,  he  asked  the  coachman  if  his  axle-tree  was 
good.     Upon  the  fellow  telling  him  he  would  warrant  it,  the 
knight  turned  to  me,  told  me  he  looked  like  an  honest  man,  and  45 
went  in  without  further  ceremony. 

6.  We  had  not  gone  far  when  Sir  Roger,  popping  out  his  head, 


16.  abroad:    that  is,  not  to  a  foreign 

country,  but  merely  out  of  the 

house. 
28,  29.  sickness  .  .  .  Dantzic  :    that   is, 

the  plague,  which  raged  there 

in  1709. 


30.  hackney-coach,  a  coach  kept  for  hire, 

a  hack. 
37-  Jointure,  an  estate  settled  on  a  wife, 

and  which  she  is  to  enjoy  aftei 

becoming  a  widow. 
38.  fain,  gladly. 


140 


ADDISON. 


called  the  coachman  down  from  his  box,  and,  upon  his  pre- 
senting himself  at  the  window,  asked  him  if  he  smoked.  As 
I  was  considering  what  this  would  end  in,  he  bade  him  stop  50 
by  the  way  at  any  good  tobacconist's,  and  take  in  a  roll  of 
their  best  Virginia.  Nothing  material  happened  in  the  remain- 
ing part  of  our  journey  till  we  were  set  down  at  the  west  end 
of  the  Abbey. 

7.  As  we  went  up  the  body  of  the  church,  the  knight  pointed  55 
at  the  trophies  *  upon  one  of  the  new  monuments,  and  cried  out, 
"A  brave  man,  I  warrant  him!"     Passing  afterwards  by  Sir 
Cloudesley  Shovel,  he  flung  his  hand  that  way,  and  cried,  "  Sir 
Cloudesley  Shovel !  a  very  gallant  man  !"     As  we  stood  before 
Busby's  tomb,  the  knight  uttered  himself  again  after  the  same  60 
manner  :  "  Dr.  Busby — a  great  man !      He  whipped  my  grand- 
father— a  very  great  man  !     I  should  have  gone  to  him  myself  if 

I  had  not  been  a  blockhead — a  very  great  man  !" 

8.  We  were  immediately  conducted  into  the  little  chapel  on 
the  right  hand.     Sir  Roger,  planting  himself  at  our  historian's  65 
elbow,  was  very  attentive  to  everything  he  said,  particularly  to 
the  account  he  gave  us  of  the  lord  who  had  cut  off  the  King  of 
Morocco's  head.    Among  several  other  figures,  he  was  very  well 


52.  Virginia  was  the  common  name  for 
tobacco  in  England  in  Addi- 
son's  time.  The  reason  is  ob- 
vious, the  plant  having  first 
been  introduced  into  England 
by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who,  it 
will  be  remembered,  was  deep- 
ly interested  in  colonizing  "  Vir- 
ginia." 

56.  trophies.     A  trophy  is  a  represen- 

tation of  a  pile  of  arms,  offen- 
sive and  defensive. 

57,  58.  Passing  ...  by   Sir   Cloudesley 

Shovel:  that  is,  passing  by  his 
monument.  Sir  Cloudesley 
Shovel  (born  1650)  rose  from 
cabin-boy  to  be  an  admiral,  and 
figures  as  one  of  the  great  sea- 


men in  the  annals  of  the  British 
navy.  His  vessel  was  wrecked 
oif  the  Scilly  Isles  (on  the  Eng- 
lish coast)  in  1707.  His  mon- 
ument is  in  the  south  aisle  of 
the  choir. 

61.  Dr.  Busby.  The  doctor  was  head- 
master of  Westminster  School 
for  fifty- five  vears,  and  trained 
many  eminent  scholars,  whom 
as  school-boys  he  vigorously 
trounced.  He  died  1695. 

64,  65.  little  chapel  on  the  right  hand : 

that  is,  the  chapel  of  St.  Ed- 
mund. 

65.  historian :    that    is,    the    attendant 

who  conducts  visitors  through 
the  Abbey. 


SIR  ROGER  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


141 


pleased  to  see  the  statesman  Cecil  upon  his  knees ;  and,  con- 
cluding them  all  to  be  great  men,  was  conducted  to  the  figure  7° 
which  represents  that  martyr  to  good  housewifery  who  died  by 
the  prick  of  a  needle.     Upon  our  interpreter  telling  us  that  she 
was  a  maid  of  honor  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  knight  was  very 
inquisitive  into  her  name  and  family ;  and,  after  having  regarded 
her  finger  for  some  time,  "  I  wonder,"  says  he,  "  that  Sir  Richard  75 
Baker  has  said  nothing  of  her  in  his  Chronicle." 

9.  We  were  then  conveyed  to  the  two  coronation  chairs,  where 
my  old  friend,  after  having  heard  that  the  stone  underneath  the 
most  ancient  of  them,  which  was  brought  from  Scotland,  was 
called  Jacob's  Pillow,  sat  himself  down  in  the  chair,  and,  looking  8c 
like  the  figure  of  an  old  Gothic  king,  asked  our  interpreter  what 
authority  they  had  to  say  that  Jacob  had  ever  been  in  Scotland  ? 
The  fellow,  instead  of  returning  him  an  answer,  told  him  that  he 
hoped  his  honor  would  pay  his  forfeit.     I  could  observe  Sir 
Roger  a  little  rufHed  upon'  being  thus  trepanned ;  but,  our  guide  «s 
not  insisting  upon  his  demand,  the  knight  soon  recovered  his 


69.  the  statesman  Cecil  (born  about  the 
middle  of  the  i6th  century,  died 
1612)  was  the  son  of  the  great 
Lord  Burleigh,  and  held  high 
office  under  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  James  I. 

71.  that  martyr,  etc.  This  figure  is  de- 
scribed in  Murray's  London  as 
"  an  alabaster  statue  of  Eliza- 
beth Russell,  of  the  Bedford  fam- 
ily—  foolishly  shown  for  many 
years  as  the  lady  who  died  by 
the  prick  of  a  needle."  Gold- 
smith states  that  the  story  was 
one  of  the  "  hundredlies  "  which, 
in  his  day,  the  attendant  was  in 
the  habit  of  telling  "  without 
blushing." 

77.  the  two  coronation  chairs.  These 
two  chairs,  still  used  at  the 
coronations  of  the  sovereigns 
of  Great  Britain,  are  in  the 


chapel  of  Edward  the  Confessor 
(on  whom,  see  note  95).  One  of 
them,  the  most  ancient,  contains 
the  famous  "stone  of  Scone," 
on  which  the  Scottish  kings 
were  wont  to  be  crowned,  and 
which  Edward  I.  carried  away 
with  him  as  an  evidence  of  his 
absolute  conquest  of  Scotland 
in  1304.  How  it  got  the  name 
of  Jacob's  Pillow  (see  line  80) 
is  difficult  to  trace.  It  is  a 
piece  of  common  rough  Scotch 
sandstone ;  and  Sir  Roger's 
question  was  extremely  perti- 
nent. The  other  coronation 
chair  was  placed  in  the  Abbe} 
in  the  reign  of  William  and 
Mary  (1688). 

84.  pay  his  forfeit:  namely,  for  having 

sat  down  on  the  chair. 

85.  trepanned,  ensnared,  caught 


142 


ADDISON. 


good-humor,  and  whispered  in  my  ear  that  if  Will  Wimble  were 
with  us,  and  saw  those  two  chairs,  it  would  go  hard  but  he  would 
get  a  tobacco-stopper  out  of  one  or  t'other  of  them. 

10.  Sir  Roger,  in  the  next  place,  laid  his  hand  upon  Edward  oc 
the  Third's  sword,  and,  leaning  upon  the  pommel  of  it,  gave  us 
the  whole  history  of  the  Black  Prince,  concluding  that  in  Sir 
Richard  Baker's   opinion  Edward  the  Third  was   one   of  the 
greatest  princes  that  ever  sat  upon  the  English  throne.     We 
were  then  shown  Edward  the  Confessor's  tomb,  upon  which  Sir  95 
Roger  acquainted  us  that  he  was  the  first  who  touched  for  the 
evil,  and  afterwards  Henry  the  Fourth's,  upon  which  he  shook 
his  head,  and  told  us  there  was  fine  reading  in  the  casualties  of 
that  reign. 

11.  Our  conductor  then  pointed  to  that  monument  where  there  100 
is  the  figure  of  one  of  our  English  kings  without  a  head ;  and 
upon  giving  us  to  know  that  the  head,  which  was  of  beaten  silver, 
had  been  stolen  away  several  years  since,  "  Some  Whig,  I'll  war- 
rant you,"  says  Sir  Roger :  "  you  ought  to  lock  up  your  kings 
better ;  they  will  carry  off  the  body  too  if  you  don't  take  care."    105 


87.  Will  Wimble.  "  Will  "  figures  in 
some  of  the  early  Spectator  pa- 
pers as  a  neighbor  and  friend 
of  Sir  Roger.  He  was  fond  of 
whittling  tobacco-stoppers  and 
various  other  bits  of  handicraft. 

co,  91.  Edward  the  Third's  sword.  Ed- 
ward the  Third,  father  of  the 
Black  Prince,  began  to  reign 
1327,  and.  died  1376.  He  con- 
quered a  great  part  of  France. 
His  sword,  "  the  monumental 
sword  that  conquered  France," 
and  which  he  caused  to  be  car- 
ried before  him  in  that  country, 
is  seven  feet  long.  It  is  placed 
with  his  shield  near  his  tomb. 
The  altar-tomb  with  effigy  of 
Edward  III.  is  in  the  chapel  of 
Edward  the  Confessor. 


95.  Edward  the  Confessor  (that  is,  Ed- 

ward III.  in  the  Saxon  line,  and 
who  reigned  1041  to  1065)  en- 
larged Westminster  Abbey, 

96,  97.  for  the  evil :  that  is,  the  "  king's 

evil,"  a  scrofulous  disease,  for- 
merly supposed  to  be  cu:ed  by 
the  touch  of  a  king. 
98.  fine  reading,    etc.       See    Shake- 
speare's Henry  IV. 

101.  without  a  head.  This  is  the  ef- 
figy of  Henry  V.,  which  also  is 
in  the  chapel  of  Edward  the 
Confessor.  The  head,  which 
was  of  solid  silver,  was  stolen 
at  the  time  of  the  Protestant 
Reformation. 

103.  Some  Whig.  Sir  Roger  was  a  Tory, 
of  course.  On  these  words,  see 
Macaulay's  EngL  vol.  i.  p.  241. 


SIR   ROGER  PASSE TH  AWAY. 


'43 


12.  The  glorious  names  of  Henry  the  Fifth  and  Queen  Eliza- 
beth gave  the  knight  great  opportunities  of  shining  and  of  doing 
justice  to  Sir  Richard  Baker,  who,  as  our  knight  observed  with 
some  surprise,  had  a  great  many  kings  in  him  whose  monuments 
he  had  not  seen  in  the  Abbey.  For  my  own  part,  I  could  not  no 
but  be  pleased  to  see  the  knight  show  such  an  honest  passion 
for  the  glory  of  his  country,  and  such  a  respectful  gratitude  to 
the  memory  of  its  princes. 

13.1  must  not  omit  that  the  benevolence  of  my  good  old  friend, 
which  flows  out  towards  every  one  he  converses  with,  made  him  us 
very  kind  to  our  interpreter,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  an  ex- 
traordinary man ;  for  which  reason  he  shook  him  by  the  hand  at 
parting,  telling  him  that  he  should  be  very  glad  to  see  him  at  his 
lodgings  in  Norfolk  Buildings,  and  talk  over  these  matters  with 
him  more  at  leisure.  uo 


IV.-SIR  ROGER  PASSETH  AWAY  (SPECTATOR  No.  517). 

i.  We  last  night  received  a  piece  of  ill  news  at  our  club,  which 
very  sensibly  afflicted  every  one  of  us.  I  question  not  but  my 
readers  themselves  will  be  troubled  at  the  hearing  of  it.  To 
keep  them  no  longer  in  suspense,  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  is  dead. 
He  departed  this  life  at  his  house  in  the  country,  after  a  few  s 
weeks'  sickness.  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  has  a  letter  from  one  of 
his  correspondents  in  those  parts  that  informs  him  the  old  man 
caught  a  cold  at  the  county  sessions  as  he  was  very  warmly  pro- 
moting an  address  of  his  own  penning,  in  which  he  succeeded 
according  to  his  wishes.  But  this  particular  comes  from  a  Whig  10 
justice  of  peace  who  was  always  Sir  Roger's  enemy  and  antag- 
onist. I  have  letters  both  from  the  chaplain  and  Captain  Sen- 


106,  107.  Henry  T.  reigned  1413-1422 ; 
Elizabeth  reigned  1558-1603. 


4.  Sir  Roger  de  CoYerley  is  dead.       A 

contemporary  writer  says :  "  Mr. 
Addison  was  so  fond  of  this 
character  that  a  little  before  he 
laid  down  the  Spectator  (fore- 
seeing that  some  nimble  gentle- 
man would  catch  up  his  pen  the 


moment  he  quitted  it),  he  said 
to  a  friend,  with  a  certain  warmth 
in  his  expression  which  he  was 
not  often  guilty  of, '  I'll  kill  Sir 
Roger,  that  nobody  else  may 
murder  him.'" 

8,  9.  promoting,  sustaining  in  a  speech. 
12,  13.  Captain    Sentrey,    Sir    Roger's 
nephew  and  heir  (see  below, 
line  63). 


144 


ADDISON. 


trey  which  mention  nothing  of  it,  but  are  filled  with  many  partic- 
ulars to  the  honor  of  the  good  old  man.  I  have  likewise  a  letter 
from  the  butler,  who  took  so  much  care  of  me  last  summer  when  15 
I  was  at  the  knight's  house.  As  my  friend  the  butler  mentions, 
in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  several  circumstances  the  others 
have  passed  over  in  silence,  I  shall  give  my  reader  a  copy  of  his 
letter  without  any  alteration  or  diminution  : 

"  HONORED  SIR, — Knowing  that  you  was  my  old  master's  good  20 
friend,  I  could  not  forbear  sending  you  the  melancholy  news  of 
his  death,  which  has  afflicted  the  whole  country,  as  well  as  his 
poor  servants,  who  loved  him,  I  may  say,  better  than  we  did  our 
lives.  I  am  afraid  he  caught  his  death  the  last  county  sessions, 
where  he  would  go  to  see  justice  done  to  a  poor  widow  woman  25 
and  her  fatherless  children  that  had  been  wronged  by  a  neigh- 
boring gentleman  ;  for  you  know,  sir,  my  good  master  was  always 
the  poor  man's  friend.  Upon  his  coming  home,  the  first  com- 
plaint he  made  was  that  he  had  lost  his  roast-beef  stomach,  not 
being  able  to  touch  a  sirloin  *  which  was  served  up  according  to  30 
custom  ;  and  you  know  he  used  to  take  great  delight  in  it.  From 
that  time  forward  he  grew  worse  and  worse,  but  still  kept  a  good 
heart  to  the  last.  Indeed,  we  were  once  in  great  hope  of  his  re- 
covery, upon  a  kind  message  that  was  sent  him  from  the  widow  * 
lady  whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  forty  last  years  of  his  life ;  35 


20.  Honored  Sir,  etc.  Notice  the  ad- 
mirable art  with  which  the 
character  of  the  honest  butler 
is  assumed,  and  the  delicate 
lights  and  shades  of  expression 
suitable  to  the  character. 


34»  35-  widow  lady,  etc.  A  hint  of  a 
youthful  heart-disappointment, 
and  of  a  "perverse  beautiful 
widow,"  the  occasion  whereof 
appears  in  the  first  slight  sketch 
of  Sir  Roger  by  Steele.1 


1  "  It  is  said  he  keeps  himself  a  bachelor  by  reason  he  was  crossed  in  love 
by  a  perverse  beautiful  widow  of  the  next  county  to  him.  Before  this  disap- 
pointment, Sir  Roger  was  what  you  call  a  fine  gentleman,  had  often  supped 
with  my  Lord  Rochester  and  Sir  George  Etherege,  fought  a  duel  upon  his 
first  coming  to  town,  and  kicked  Bully  Dawson  in  a  public  coffee-house  for 
calling  him  youngster.  But  being  ill-used  by  the  above-mentioned  widow, 
he  was  very  serious  for  a  year  and  a  half;  and  though,  his  temper  being  nat- 
urally jovial,  he  at  last  got  over  it,  he  grew  careless  of  himself,  and  never 
dressed  afterwards." 


SIR  ROGER   PASSE TH  AWAY.  I45 

but  this  only  proved  a  lightning  before  death.  He  has  bequeathed 
to  this  lady,  as  a  token  of  his  love,  a  great  pearl  necklace  and  a 
couple  of  silver  bracelets  set  with  jewels,  which  belonged  to  my 
good  old  lady  his  mother  ;  he  has  bequeathed  the  fine  white  geld- 
ing that  he  used  to  ride  a-hunting  upon  to  his  chaplain,  because  40 
he  thought  he  would  be  kind  to  him ;  and  has  left  you  all  his 
books.  He  has,  moreover,  bequeathed  to  the  chaplain  a  very 
pretty  tenement*  with  good  lands  about  it.  It  being  a  very  cold 
day  when  he  made  his  will,  he  left  for  mourning  to  every  man  in 
the  parish  a  great  frieze  *  coat,  and  to  every  woman  a  black  rid-  45 
ing-hood.  It  was  a  most  moving  sight  to  see  him  take  leave  of 
his  poor  servants,  commending  us  all  for  our  fidelity,  whilst  we 
were  not  able  to  speak  a  word  for  weeping.  As  we  most  of  us 
are  grown  gray-headed  in  our  dear  master's  service,  he  has  left 
us  pensions  and  legacies  which  we  may  live  very  comfortly  upon  5° 
the  remaining  part  of  our  days.  He  has  bequeathed  a  great  deal 
more  in  charity  which  is  not  yet  come  to  my  knowledge,  and  it 
is  peremptorily  said  in  the  parish  that  he  has  left  money  to  build 
a  steeple  to  the  church ;  for  he  was  heard  to  say  some  time  ago 
that  if  he  lived  two  years  longer,  Coverley  Church  should  have  a  ss 
steeple  to  it.  The  chaplain  tells  everybody  that  he  made  a  very 
good  end,  and  never  speaks  of  him  without  tears.  He  was  bur- 
ied, according  to  his  own  directions,  among  the  family  of  the 
Coverlies,  on  the  left  hand  of  his  father,  Sir  Arthur.  The  coffin 
was  carried  by  six  of  his  tenants,  and  the  pall  held  up  by  six  of  60 
the  quorum  :*  the  whole  parish  followed  the  corpse  with  heavy 
hearts,  and  in  their  mourning  suits  —  the  men  in  frieze  and  the 
women  in  riding-hoods.  Captain  Sentrey,  my  master's  nephew, 
has  taken  possession  of  the  Hall-house  and  the  whole  estate. 
When  my  old  master  saw  him  a  little  before  his  death,  he  shook  65 
him  by  the  hand,  and  wished  him  joy  of  the  estate  which  was 
falling  to  him,  desiring  him  only  to  make  a  good  use  of  it,  and  to 
pay  the  several  legacies,  and  the  gifts  of  charity  which  he  told 


43.  tenement.  In  England,  a  house 
depending  on  a  manor  (the 
land  belonging  to  a  nobleman). 

45.  frieze,  coarse  woollen  cloth. 

56,  57-  ne  made  a  very  good  end.  Com- 
pare with  Dame  Quickly's  ac- 
10 


count  of  the  death  of  Falstaff 
(Shakespeare's  Henry  V.  act  ii. 
scene  3) :  "  ^A  made  a  finer  end, 
and  went  away,  an  it  had  been 
any  christom  child." 
61.  quorum,  the  just  ice -court. 


146 


ADDISON-. 


him  he  had  left  as  quit-rents  upon  the  estate.    The  captain,  truly, 
seems  a  courteous  man,  though  he  says  but  little.     He  makes  70 
much  of  those  whom  my  master  loved,  and  shows  great  kindnesses 
to  the  old  house-dog  that  you  know  my  poor  master  was  so  fond 
of.     It  would  have  gone  to  your  heart  to  have  heard  the  moans 
the  dumb  creature  made  on  the  day  of  my  master's  death.     He 
has  never  joyed  himself  since ;  no  more  has  any  of  us.     'Twas  75 
the  melancholiest  day  for  the  poor  people  that  ever  happened  in 
Worcestershire.     This  is  all  from, 

"  Honored  sir,  your  most  sorrowful  servant, 

"EDWARD  BISCUIT. 

"  P.  S. — My  master  desired,  some  weeks  before  he  died,  that  a  80 
book  which  comes  up  to  you  by  the  carrier  should  be  given  to 
Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  in  his  name." 

2.  This  letter,  notwithstanding  the  poor  butler's  manner  of 
writing  it,  gave  us  such  an  idea  of  our  good  old  friend  that  upon 
the  reading  of  it  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  club.  Sir  An- 85 
drew,  opening  the  book,  found  it  to  be  a  collection  of  Acts  of 
Parliament.  There  was,  in  particular,  the  Act  of  Uniformity, 
with  some  passages  in  it  marked  by  Sir  Roger's  own  hand.  Sir 
Andrew  found  that  they  related  to  two  or  three  points  which  he 
had  disputed  with  Sir  Roger  the  last  time  he  appeared  at  the  9° 
club.  Sir  Andrew,  who  would  have  been  merry  at  such  an  in- 
cident on  another  occasion,  at  the  sight  of  the  old  man's  hand- 
writing burst  into  tears,  and  put  the  book  into  his  pocket.  Cap- 
tain Sentrey  informs  us  that  the  knight  has  left  rings  and  mourn- 
ing for  every  one  in  the  club.  95 


69.  quit-rent,  a  rent  reserved,  in  the 
grant  of  land,  by  the  payment 
of  which  the  tenant  is  quieted 
or  quitted  from  all  other  ser- 
vice. 

87.  Act  of  Uniformity.  This  act,  or  law, 
was  passed  by  the  English  Par- 
liament in  1662,  during  the  reign 
of  Charles  II.  It  required  all 
clergymen  holding  benefices  to 
declare  their  "  unfeigned  as- 


93 


sent  and  consent "  to  every- 
thing contained  in  the  revised 
Prayer-book,  and  to  receive  or- 
dination from  a  bishop.  In  one 
day  it  threw  out  three  thousand 
ministers  from  the  benefices 
they  held. 

burst  into  tears,  etc.  The  circum- 
stance of  the  book  is  noted  by 
all  critics  as  an  irresistible 
stroke  of  nature. 


IX, 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 

1688-1744. 


DR.  JOHNSON'S  PARALLEL  BETWEEN  POPE  AND  DRY- 
DEN.1 

i.  Pope  professed  to  have  learned  his  poetry  from  Dryden, 
whom,  whenever  an  opportunity  was  presented,  he  praised  through 
his  whole  life  with  unvarying  liberality ;  and  perhaps  his  char- 

1  From  Johnson's  Z«w  of  the  Poets. 


148  POPE. 

acter  may  receive  some  illustration  if  he  be  compared  with  his 
master. 

;  2.  Integrity  of  understanding  and  nicety  of  discernment  were 
not  allotted  in  a  less  proportion  to  Dryden  than  to  Pope.  The 
rectitude  of  Dryden's  mind  was  sufficiently  shown  by  the  dismis- 
sion of  his  poetical  prejudices,  and  the  rejection  of  unnatural 
thoughts  and  rugged  numbers.  But  Dryden  never  desired  to 
apply  all  the  judgment  that  he  had.  He  wrote,  and  professed 
to  write,  merely  for  the  people ;  and  when  he  pleased  others,  he 
contented  himself.  He  spent  no  time  in  struggles  to  rouse  la- 
tent powers  ;  he  never  attempted  to  make  that  better  which  was 
already  good,  nor  often  to  mend  what  he  must  have  known  to  be 
faulty.  He  wrote,  as  he  tells  us,  with  very  little  consideration. 
When  occasion  or  necessity  called  upon  him,  he  poured  out  what 
the  present  moment  happened  to  supply,  and,  when  once  it  had 
passed  the  press,  ejected  it  from  his  mind ;  for  when  he  had  no 
pecuniary  interest,  he  had  no  further  solicitude. 

3.  Pope  was  not  content  to  satisfy;  he  desired  to  excel,  and 
therefore  always  endeavored  to  do  his  best.     He  did  not  court 
the  candor,  but  dared  the  judgment,  of  his  reader,  and,  expecting 
no  indulgence  from  others,  he  showed  none  to  himself.     He  ex- 
amined lines  and  words  with  minute  and  punctilious  observation, 
and  retouched  every  part  with  indefatigable  diligence,  till  he  had 
left  nothing  to  be  forgiven. 

4.  His  declaration  that  his  care  for  his  works  ceased  at  their 
publication  was  not  strictly  true.     His  parental  attention  never 
abandoned  them  :  what  he  found  amiss  in  the  first  edition  he  si- 
lently corrected  in  those  that  followed.     He  appears  to  have  re- 
vised the  Iliad,  and  freed  it  from  some  of  its  imperfections ;  and 
the  Essay  on  Criticism  received  many  improvements  after  its  first 
appearance.     It  will  seldom  be  found  that  he  altered  without  add- 
ing clearness,  elegance,  or  vigor.    Pope  had  perhaps  the  judgment 
of  Dryden  ;  but  Dryden  certainly  wanted  the  diligence  of  Pope. 

5.  In  acquired  knowledge,  the  superiority  must  be  allowed  to 
Dryden,  whose  education  was  more  scholastic,  and  who,  before 
he  became  an  author,  had  been  allowed  more  time  for  study, 
with  better  means  of  information.     His  mind  has  a  larger  range, 
and  he  collects  his  images  and  illustrations  from  a  more  exten- 
sive circumference  of  science.     Dryden  knew  more  of  man  in 


JOHNSON'S  PARALLEL.  I49 

his  general  nature,  and  Pope  in  his  local  manners.  The  notions 
of  Dryden  were  formed  by  comprehensive  speculation,  and  those 
of  Pope  by  minute  attention.  There  is  more  dignity  in  the 
knowledge  of  Dryden,  and  more  certainty  in  that  of  Pope. 

6.  Poetry  was  not  the  sole  praise  of  either ;  for  both  excelled 
likewise  in  prose  ;  but  Pope  did  not  borrow  his  prose  from  his 
predecessor.    The  style  of  Dryden  is  capricious  and  varied  ;  that 
of  Pope  is  cautious  and  uniform.     Dryden  obeys  the  motions  of 
his  own  mind ;  Pope  constrains  his  mind  to  his  own  rules  of 
composition.     Dryden  is  sometimes  vehement  and  rapid  ;   Pope 
is  always  smooth,  uniform,  and  gentle.     Dryden 's  page  is  a  nat- 
ural field,  rising  into  inequalities,  and  diversified  by  the  varied 
exuberance  of  abundant  vegetation  ;   Pope's  is  a  velvet  lawn, 
shaven  by  the  scythe  and  levelled  by  the  roller. 

7.  Of  genius — that  power  which  constitutes  a  poet;  that  qual- 
ity without  which  judgment  is  cold  and  knowledge  is  inert ;  that 
energy  which  collects,  combines,  amplifies,  and  animates — the 
superiority  must,  with  some  hesitation,  be  allowed  to  Dryden. 
it  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  of  this  poetical  vigor  Pope  had  only  a 
little,  because  Dryden  had  more ;  for  every  other  writer  since  Mil- 
ton must  give  place  to  Pope ;  and  even  of  Dryden  it  must  be  said 
that  if  he  has  brighter  paragraphs,  he  has  not  better  poems. 

8.  Dryden's  performances  were  always  hasty,  either  excited 
'by  some  external  occasion  or  extorted  by  domestic  necessity. 

He  composed  without  consideration,  and  published  without  cor- 
rection. What  his  mind  could  supply  at  call,  or  gather  in  one 
excursion,  was  all  that  he  sought,  and  all  that  he  gave.  The 
dilatory  caution  of  Pope  enabled  him  to  condense  his  sentiments, 
to  multiply  his  images,  and  to  accumulate  all  that  study  might 
produce  or  chance  might  supply.  If  the  flights  of  Dryden,  there- 
fore, are  higher,  Pope  continues  longer  on  the  wing.  If  of  Dry- 
den's  fire  the  blaze  is  brighter,  of  Pope's  the  heat  is  more  regular 
and  constant.  Dryden  often  surpasses  expectation,  and  Pope 
never  falls  below  it.  Dryden  is  read  with  frequent  astonishment, 
and  Pope  with  perpetual  delight. 


'5° 


POPE. 


ESSAY   ON   MAN.— EPISTLE  I. 


[INTRODUCTION. — The  Essay  on  Man  consists  of  four  Epistles,  of  which  the 
first  is  here  given  entire.  The  title  imperfectly  describes  the  contents  of  the 
Essay,  which  is  less  a  treatise  on  man  than  on  the  moral  order  of  the  world  of 
which  man  is  a  part.  It  is  a  vindication  of  Providence — a  vindication  brought 
about  by  showing  that  the  appearances  of  evil  in  the  world  arise  from  our  see- 
ing only  a  part  of  the  whole.  The  philosophy  of  the  poem  is  neither  profound 
nor  consistent;  but  this  is  not  material,  for  the  value  of  the  Essay  is  in  its 
workmanship.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  metrical  composition,  and  the  student 
cannot  find  a  more  instructive  model  to  dwell  upon  and  to  analyze. 

The  Essay  on  Man  is  composed  in  the  rhymed  couplet  of  verses  of  five  ac- 
cents. The  caesural  pause  may  fall  after  the  fourth,  the  fifth,  the  sixth,  or  the 
seventh  syllable  :  thus  (marking  the  caesura  with  a  double  line) — 

Awake,'  |  my  Saint'  |  John  !  1 1  leave'  |  all  mean-  |  er  things 
To  low'  |  ambi'-  |  tion,  [|  and'  |  the  pride'  |  of  kings. 
Let  us'  |  (since  life'  1 1  can  lit'-  |  tie  more'  |  supply' 
Than  just'  |  to  look'  |  about'  |  us  ||  and'  |  to  die) 
Expa'-  |  tiate  free'  ||  o'er  all'  |  this  scene'  |  of  man'. 

While  the  versification  is  exquisite,  it  should  also  be  observed  that  it  is  not 
faultless ;  and  there  are  seventeen  imperfect  rhymes  in  the  First  Epistle.] 

I. 

Awake,  my  St.  John  !  leave  all  meaner  things 
To  low  ambition,*  and  the  pride  of  kings. 
Let  us  (since  life  can  little  more  supply 
Than  just  to  look  about  us  and  to  die) 


NOTES.  —  Line  I.  my  St.  John  (pro- 
nounced sen'jiri),  Henry  St. 
John,  Lord  Bolingbroke  (1678- 
1751),  an  English  statesman  and 
author.  He  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Pope,  and  is  said  to 
have  supplied  the  argument  of 
the  Essay  on  Man.  This  is 


probably  an  overstatement, 
though  it  was  doubtless  through 
Bolingbroke's  conversation  and 
correspondence  that  Pope  was 
led  to  indulge  in  the  kind  ot 
speculations  and  reflections 
that  form  the  basis  of  the  Es- 
say. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1-16.  To  what  class,  grammatically  considered,  does 
each  of  the  first  four  sentences  belong  ? 

2.  low  ambition.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  28.) — Give  the 
etymology  of  "  ambition." 


ESSA  Y  ON  MAN. 


Expatiate  *  free  o'er  all  this  scene  of  man ; 
A  mighty  maze  !  *  but  not  without  a  plan  ; 
A  wild,  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscuous  shoot  5 
Or  garden  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit. 
Together  let  us  beat  this  ample  field, 
Try  what  the  open,  what  the  covert*  yield  ! 
The  latent*  tracts,  the  giddy  heights,  explore 
Of  all  who  blindly  creep,  or  sightless  soar; 
Eye  nature's  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise : 
Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid*  where  we  can; 
But  vindicate*  the  ways  of  God  to  man. 
Say  first,  of  God  above  or  man  below, 
What  can  we  reason  but  from  what  we  know  ? 
Of  man,  what  see  we  but  his  station  here, 
From  which  to  reason,  or  to  which  refer  ? 
Through  worlds  unnumbered  though  the  God  be  known, 
'Tis  ours  to  trace  him  only  in  our  own. 


•5 


6.  maze,  a  confusing  and  baffling  net- 
work of  paths  or  passages  ;  a 
labyrinth. 

9.  beat  this  ample  field.      "  To  beat " 

is  to  range  over  in  hunting. 
10.  the  open  .  . .  the  covert.      "  Open  " 
is  here  a  noun  ;  a  "covert"  is 
a  thicket  affording  a  shelter  to 
game. 


13.  Eye  nature's  walks:  that  is,  observe 
the  phenomena  of  nature. 

1 6.  vindicate  the  ways,  etc.     This  is  an 

adaptation  of  Milton's  line 
(Paradise  Lost,  Book  I.,  line 
26): 

"  Justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man." 

1 7.  of  God :  that  is,  concerning  or  re- 

specting  God. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 5.  free.  For  what  part  of  speech  is  "free  "  used  by 
enallage  ?  (See  Def.  41.) — scene.  What  three  nouns  are  in  apposition  with 
chis  word  ? 

6-8.  Point  out  words  used  metaphorically  to  denote  "  this  scene  of  man  " 
(=  human  life). 

9,  10.  beat .  .  .  yield.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  20.)  Change 
into  a  simile. 

15.  candid.     Give  the  etymology  of  "  candid." 

17-20.  Say  first .  .  .  refer.    What  kind  of  sentences  are  these  grammatically? 


»52 


POPE. 

He,  who  through  vast  immensity  can  pierce, 

See  worlds  on  worlds  compose  one  universe, 

Observe  how  system  into  system  runs, 

What  other  planets  *  circle  other  suns, 

What  varied  being  peoples  every  star, 

May  tell  why  heaven*  has  made  us  as  we  are. 

But  of  this  frame  the  bearings  and  the  ties, 

The  strong  connections,  nice  dependencies, 

Gradations  just,  has  thy  pervading  soul 

Looked  through  ?  or  can  a  part  contain  the  whole  > 

Is  the  great  chain,  that  draws  all  to  agree, 
And  drawn  supports,  upheld  by  God,  or  thee  ? 
Presumptuous*  man  !  the  reason  wouldst  thou  find 
Why  formed  so  weak,  so  little,  and  so  blind  ? 
First,  if  thou  canst,  the  harder  reason  guess, 
Why  formed  no  weaker,  blinder,  and  no  less  ? 
Ask  of  thy  mother  earth  why  oaks  are  made 
Taller  or  stronger  than  the  weeds  they  shade. 


•25 


26.  circle  =  circle  around. 

29.  this  frame,  this  universe.  The 
original  meaning  of  "frame  "  is 
anything  composed  of  parts 


fitted  and  united  together.  By 
the  Greeks  the  universe  was 
called  cosmos  (order),  from  its 
perfect  arrangement. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 23-28.  He,  who  . . .  are.  What  kind  of  sentence  is 
this  grammatically? — What  is  the  principal  proposition?  The  dependent 
clauses? — Supply  the  ellipses. — To  what  pronoun  are  these  clauses  adjuncts? 

29-31.  What  preposition,  expressed  or  understood,  governs  the  following 
nouns  —  "bearings;"  "ties;"  "connections;"  "dependencies;"  "Grada- 
tions?" 

33.  34.  Is  ...  thee.     What  is  the  rhetorical  force  of  this  interrogative  sen- 
tence ? 

34.  And  drawn  supports.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

35.  Presumptuous.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word. 

36.  Why  formed  .  .  .  blind.     Supply  the  ellipsis. — Of  what  verb  are  "  weak,* 
•'little,"  and  "blind"  the  complements? 

39-42.  Ask  . . .  Jore.  Are  these  two  sentences  interrogative,  or  are  they  im- 
perative ? 


ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

Or  ask  of  yonder  argent*  fields  above 
Why  Jove's  satellites  *  are  less  than  Jove. 

Of  systems  possible,  if  'tis  confest 
That  Wisdom  Infinite  *  must  form  the  best, 
Where  all  must  full  or  not  coherent  *  be, 
And  all  that  rises,  rise  in  due  degree ; 
Then,  in  the  scale  of  reasoning  life,  'tis  plain, 
There  must  be,  somewhere,  such  a  rank  as  man : 
And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e'er  so  long) 
Is  only  this,  if  God  has  placed  him  wrong  i 

Respecting  man,  whatever  wrong  we  call 
May,  must,  be  right,  as  relative  to  all. 
In  human  works,  though  labored  on  with  pain, 
A  thousand  movements  scarce  one  purpose  gain ; 
In  God's,  one  single  can  its  end  produce  ; 
Yet  serves  to  second,*  too,  some  other  use. 


153 


45 


55 


41.  yonder  argent  fields.    "  Argent,"  re- 

sembling silver ;  hence  shining, 
brilliant.  Compare  Milton's 
phrase,  "  those  argent  fields." 

42.  satellites  —  pronounced  in  Pope's 

time  sa-td'-li-tes.1  Jupiter's 
(or,  as  Pope,  for  metre's  sake, 


has  it,  Jove's)  four  satellites 
were  discovered  by  Galileo  in 
1610. 

45.  full,  complete  in  every  intermedi- 
ate rank  and  degree. 

47.  reasoning  life  =  rational  beings. 

50.  if  =  whether. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 45.  coherent.  Show  that  this  word  retains  here  its 
original  meaning. 

46.  rise.     What  auxiliary  is  understood  ? 

47.  48.  Query  as  to  the  rhyme. 

48.  man.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

49.  e'er  so  long.     What  part  of  speech  is  "  long  ?" — What  does  "  so  "  modi- 
fy ? — What  does  "e'er"  modify? 

50.  51.  wrong.     What  part  of  speech  is  "  wrong  "  in  line  50  ?     In  51  ? 

54.  scarce.     What  is  the  prose  form  of  this  word  ? 

55.  one  single.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

56.  to  second.     What  part  of  speech  ?     Etymology  and  meaning  ? 

1  In  Webster's  Dictionary  it  is  stated  that  this  pronunciation  is  given  by 
"an  unusual  stretch  of  poetic  license  ;"  but  this  is  an  error  :  the  word  was,  in 
Pope's  time,  scarcely  naturalized,  and  still  retained  the  original  classical  pro- 
nunciation. 


'54 


POPE. 

So  man,  who  here  seems  principal*  alone, 

Perhaps  acts  second  to  some  sphere  unknown, 

Touches  some  wheel,  or  verges  to  some  goal ; 

'Tis  but  a  part  we  see,  and  not  a  whole.  60 

When  the  proud  steed  shall  know  why  man  restrains 
His  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains ; 
When  the  dull  ox,  why  now  he  breaks  the  clod, 
Is  now  a  victim,  and  now  Egypt's  god : 

Then  shall  man's  pride  and  dulness  comprehend  65 

His  actions*,  passions',  being's,  use  and  end ; 
Why  doing,  suffering,  checked,  impelled ;  and  why 
This  hour  a  slave,  the  next  a  deity. 

Then  say  not  man  's  imperfect,  Heaven  in  fault; 
Say,  rather,*  man  's  as  perfect  as  he  ought :  70 

His  knowledge  measured  to  his  state  and  place ; 
His  time  a  moment,  and  a  point  his  space. 
If  to  be  perfect  in  a  certain  sphere, 
What  matter,  soon  or  late,  or  here  or  there  ? 
The  blest  to-day  is  as  completely  so  75 

As  who  began  a  thousand  years  ago. 


64.  Egypt's  god.  The  reference  is  to 
the  sacred  bull  kept  at  Mem- 
phis, and  called  Apis  by  the 
Greeks. 

70.  as  he  ought:  that  is,  as  he  ought  to 
be. 

73-76.  If  to  be  perfect . .  .  ago.  "  These 
four  lines  were  in  the  first  edition 


of  1732  after  line  98.  They  arc 
irrelevant  to  the  argument,  and 
Pope  struck  them  out  accord- 
ingly in  the  edition  revised  by 
himself  in  1740.  Warburton 
replaced  them  in  the  quarto  of 
1743  in  their  present  position." 
— PATTIESON  :  Pope's  Essay. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 58.  second.  What  part  of  speech  ?  Etymology  and 
meaning  ? 

59.  Touches  some  wheel.     Explain  the  metaphor. 

6 1-68.  When  the  proud  steed ...  a  deity.  Supply  the  ellipsis,  and  analyze 
jhis  sentence. 

69.  Then  say.     What  two  clauses  are  the  object  of  "  say  ?" 

70.  Say,  rather.     What  four  clauses  are  the  object  of  "  say  ?" 
73.  If  to  be  perfect.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

73,  74.  Query  as  to  the  rhyme. 

76.  As  who  began,  etc.     What  pronoun  and  what  verb  are  here  understood? 


ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state  : 
From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits,*  know  : 
Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  ? 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 
O  blindness  to  the  future  !  kindly  given, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  marked  by  Heaven  : 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 
Atoms*  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world. 

Hope  humbly  then  ;  with  trembling  pinions*  soar; 
Wait  the  great  teacher  Death  ;  and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss,  he  gives  not  thee  to  know, 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 
Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast  ; 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest: 


Bo 


79.  From  brutes,  etc.  :   that  is,  Heaven 

hides   from   brutes  what   men 
know,  etc. 

80.  could  suffer  being  =  could  suffer  ex- 


istence, suffer  to  be  ("  being,"  a 
gerund  or  infinitive  in  -ing). 
93.  What  future  bliss.        Supply  shall 
be. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 77.  hides  the  book  of  fate.  Change  from  figurative 
to  plain  language. 

78.  All.     Object  of  what  verb  ? 

79.  Supply  the  ellipsis  (two  words). 

81,  82.  The  lamb  . .  .  Had  he.  What  figure  of  syntax  is  here  exemplified? 
(See  Def.  42.) 

81-84.  Express  in  your  own  language  the  argument  from  example  here 
given. 

87,  88.  Does  this  mean  that  the  fall  of  a  hero  is  of  no  more  account  in  the 
eye  of  God  than  the  bursting  of  a  bubble  ?  What,  then,  is  the  meaning  ? 

87-90.  Who  sees  . .  .  world.  Point  out  three  instances  of  antithesis  in  these 
lines. 

91-92.  Hope  humbly  .  .  .  adore.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?  How 
many  principal  propositions  does  it  contain  ? 

92.  teacher.     What  is  the  force  of  "  teacher  "  as  applied  to  death  ? 

96.  Han  neyer,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  18.) 


'56 


POPE. 

The  soul,  uneasy  and  confined  from  home, 
Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 

Lo,*  the  poor  Indian  !  whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind ;  ioc 

His  soul  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk  or  Milky  Way ; 
Yet  simple  *  nature  to  his  hope  has  given, 
Behind  the  cloud-topt  hill,  an  humbler  heaven ; 
Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  embraced,  105 

Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold. 
To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire  ; 

He  asks  no  angel's  wing,  no  seraph's  fire ;  "o 

But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company.* 

II. 

Go,  wiser  thou  !  and,  in  thy  scale  of  sense, 
Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence ; 

Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such,  us 

Say  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much : 
Destroy  all  creatures  for  thy  sport  or  gust,* 
Yet  cry;  If  man  's  unhappy,  God  's  unjust ; 


97.  home,  the  future  life. 
102.  solar  walk,  the  ecliptic,  or  path  of 


III.  that  equal  sky  =  that   sky   where 
equality  reigns. 


the  earth  around  the  sun.  I  117.  gust,  pleasure,  enjoyment. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 103.  simple.    Give  the  etymology  of  this  word. 

104.  humbler  heaven.     Humbler  than  what  ? 

106.  happier  island.     Happier  than  what  ? 

108.  No  fiends  torment,  etc.  Explain  this  by  reference  to  the  early  history 
of  the  Spaniards  in  America. 

112.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  this  famous  passage  (99-112)  was  com- 
posed by  Pope  on  the  basis  of  an  account  of  the  beliefs  of  the  Red  Man  writ- 
ten by  William  Penn. 


ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


If  man  alone  engross  not  Heaven's  high  care, 
Alone  made  perfect  here,  immortal  there  : 
Snatch  from  His  hand  the  balance  and  the  rod, 
Rejudge  his  justice,  be  the  god  of  God. 
In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  error  lies  ; 
All  quit  their  sphere  and  rush  into  the  skies. 
Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes, 
Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods. 
Aspiring  to  be  gods  if  angels  fell, 
Aspiring  to  be  angels,  men  rebel  : 
And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 
Of  order,  sins  against  the  Eternal  Cause. 

Ask  for  what  end  the  heavenly  bodies  shine, 
Earth  for  whose  use  ?     Pride  answers,  "  Tis  for  mine  : 
For  me  kind  nature  wakes  her  genial  power, 
Suckles  each  herb,  and  spreads  out  every  flower  ; 
Annual  for  me,  the  grape,  the  rose,  renew 
The  juice  nectareous  *  and  the  balmy  dew  ; 
For  me,  the  mine  a  thousand  treasures  brings  ; 
For  me,  health  gushes  from  a  thousand-  springs  j 
Seas  roll  to  waft  me,  suns  to  light  me  rise  ; 
My  footstool  earth,  my  canopy*  the  skies." 

But  errs  not  nature  from  this  gracious  end,     . 
From  burning  suns  when  livid*  deaths  descend, 
When  earthquakes  swallow,  or  when  tempests  sweep 
Towns  to  one  grave,  whole  nations  to  the  deep  ? 


125 


135 


120.  immortal  there:  that  is,  in  the  fut- 

ure life. 

121.  His  hand  =  Heaven's  hand  ;  that 

is,  God's  hand. 

125.  Pride  still,  etc.  The  idea  seems 
to  be  that,  as  of  old,  in  their 
pride  the  angels  would  be  gods, 
so  even  man  in  his  pride  "is 
aiming  at  the  blest  abodes." 

127.  if  angels  fell.  The  "  if"  is  here  a 
little  misleading  :  the  thought  is 
that  while  the  angels  aspired  to 
be  gods  and  fell,  so  men  aspire 


to  be  angels,  and  to  that  end 
rebel  against  destiny. 

135.  Annual  =  annually. 

141.  But  errs  not,  etc. :  that  is,  does 
not  nature  deviate  from  this 
supposed  purpose  or  end  of 
hers  (see  previous  lines),  so 
highly  flattering  to  man's  vani- 
ty? 

143,  144.  When  earthquakes  .  .  .  deep ! 
Shortly  before  Pope  wrote  the 
Essay,  Chili  was  visited  by  a 
series  of  terrible  earthquakes, 


I58  POPE. 

"  No  ('tis  replied)  the  first  Almighty  Cause  145 

Acts  not  by  partial,*  but  by  general  laws  ; 

The  exceptions  few  ;  some  change  since  all  began : 

And  what  created  perfect  ?" — Why  then  man  ? 

If  the  great  end  be  human  happiness, 

Then  nature  deviates  ;*  and  can  man  do  less  ?  i5o 

As  much  that  end  a  constant  course  requires 

Of  showers  and  sunshine  as  of  man's  desires  ; 

As  much  eternal  springs  and  cloudless  skies 

As  men  forever  temperate,*  calm,  and  wise. 

If  plagues  or  earthquakes  break  not  Heaven's  design,  155 

Why  then  a  Borgia  or  a  Catiline  ? 

Who  knows  but  He  whose  hand  the  lightning  forms, 

Who  heaves  old  ocean,  and  who  wings  the  storms, 

Pours  fierce  ambition  in  a  Caesar's  mind, 

Or  turns  young  Ammon  loose  to  scourge  mankind  ?  160 

From  pride,  from  pride,  our  very  reasoning  springs  ; 

Account  for  moral  as  for  natural  things  : 

Why  charge  we  Heaven  in  those,  in  these  acquit  ? 

In  both,  to  reason  right  is  to  submit. 

Better  for  us,  perhaps,  it  might  appear,    '  165 

Were  there  all  harmony,  all  virtue  *  here ; 
That  never  air  or  ocean  felt  the  wind; 
That  never  passion  discomposed  the  mind. 


followed  by  a  destructive  tidal 
wave  ("tempest"),  the  city  of 
San  lago  was  swallowed  up  by 
the  earthquake  ;  the  inundation 
overflowed  the  city  of  Concep- 
tion and  reached  Callao. 

147.  some  change,  etc.  The  meaning 
is,  some  change,  indeed,  there 
has  been  since  the  beginning  of 
all  things. 

156.  Why  then  a  Borgia,  or  a  Catiline] 
Caesar  Borgia,  a  son  of  Pope 
Alexander  VI.,  was  a  monster 
of  wickedness.  Among  other 
crimes,  he  poisoned  his  father 


and  assassinated  his  brother. 
He  died  in  1507.  Catiline,  the 
Roman  conspirator  against 
whom  Cicero  thundered,  and 
whose  history  Sallust  wrote. 
He  died  62  B.C. 

159-160.  Caesar's  . . .  young  Ammon.  Cae- 
sar :  that  is,  Julius  Caesar.  By 
"young  Ammon"  is  meant 
Alexander  the  Great.  Ammon 
was  an  Egyptian  deity,  to  whose 
shrine,  in  the  Libyan  Desert, 
Alexander  paid  a  visit,  and  was 
saluted  by  the  priests  as  the 
son  of  their  god. 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  !59 

But  all  subsists  by  elemental  strife ; 

And  passions  are  the  elements  of  life.  170 

The  general  order,  since  the  whole  began, 

Is  kept  in  nature,  and  is  kept  in  man. 

What  would  this  man  ?     Now  upward  will  he  soar, 
And  little  less  than  angel,  would  be  more ; 
Now  looking  downwards,  just  as  grieved  appears  175 

To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of  bears. 
Made  for  his  use  all  creatures  if  he  call, 
Say  what  their  use,  had  he  the  powers  of  all  ? 
Nature  to  these,  without  profusion,*  kind, 

The  proper  organs,  proper  powers  assigned;  180 

Each  seeming  want  compensated*  of  course, 
Here  with  degrees  of  swiftness,  there  of  force ; 
All  in  exact  proportion  to  the  state ; 
Nothing  to  add,  and  nothing  to  abate. 

Each  beast,  each  insect,*  happy  in  its  own :  iss 

Is  Heaven  unkind  to  man,  and  man  alone  ? 
Shall  he  alone,  whom  rational  we  call, 
Be  pleased  with  nothing  if  not  blest  with  all  ? 

The  bliss  of  man  (could  pride  that  blessing  find) 
Is  not  to  act  or  think  beyond  mankind ;  19° 

No  powers  of  body  or  of  soul  to  share 
But  what  his  nature  and  his  state  can  bear. 
Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  *  eye  ? 
For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a  fly. 

Say  what  the  use,  were  finer  optics*  given,        .  195 

To  inspect  a  mite,  not  comprehend  the  heaven  ? 
Or  touch,  if  tremblingly  alive  all  o'er, 
To  smart  and  agonize  at  every  pore  ? 


169.  elemental  strife  =  a  strife  of  the  el- 
ements. 

173.  What  would  this  man  =  what,  then, 
does  man  desire  ? 

176.  To  want,  at  lacking. 

183.  state,  condition  of  the  animal. 

184.  Nothing  to  add,  etc.  :    that  is,  she 

left  nothing  to  add,  etc. 


196.  To  inspect  a  mite  .  .  .  heaven :  that 
is,  what  were  the  use  had  man 
optics  so  fine  that  he  could  in- 
spect a  mite,  if  at  the  same  time 
he  were  unable  to  comprehend 
the  heavens  ? 

197-200.  Or  touch  .  .  .  painl  This  pas- 
sage is  very  elliptical :  the  mearv- 


i6o 


POPE. 


Or,  quick  effluvia*  darting  through  the  brain, 

Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  ? 

If  nature  thundered  in  his  opening  ears, 

And  stunned  him  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 

How  would  he  wish  that  Heaven  had  left  him  still 

The  whispering  zephyr  *  and  the  purling  rill ! 

Who  finds  not  Providence  all  good  and  wise, 

Alike  in  what  it  gives  and  what  denies  ? 

Far  as  creation's  ample  range  extends, 
The  scale  of  sensual,*  mental  powers  ascends  : 
Mark  how  it  mounts,  to  man's  imperial  race, 
From  the  green  myriads  *  in  the  peopled  grass ; 
What  modes  of  sight  betwixt  each  wide  extreme, 
The  mole's  dim  curtain,  and  the  lynx's  beam ; 
Of  smell,  the  headlong  lioness  between, 
And  hound  sagacious  on  the  tainted  green ; 
Of  hearing,  from  the  life  that  fills  the  flood 
To  that  -which  warbles  through  the  vernal  *  wood  ? 
The  spider's  touch,  how  exquisitely  fine  ! 
Feels  at  each  thread,  and  lives  along  the  line ; 


205 


215 


ing  is,  supposing  touch  were 
tremblingly  alive  all  over,  what 
would  it  advantage  us  if  we 
smarted  and  agonized  at  every 
pore  ?  or  when  quick  effluvia 
darted  through  the  brain,  what 
should  we  gain  by  dying  of  a 
rose  in  aromatic  pain  ? 

199.  effluvia,  exhalations. 

202.  music  of  the  spheres.  The  Greek 
philosopher  Pythagoras  taught 
that  the  planets  in  their  rota- 
tion gave  forth  sounds  or  notes, 
each  emitting  a  note  higher  than 
that  next,  thus  completing  the 
entire  octave.  This  was  called 
the  "music  of  the  spheres." 

208.  sensual  =  sensuous  or  material. 


212.  The  mole's  dim  curtain  .  .  .  beam* 

"  The  eyes  [of  the  European 
mole]  are  two  black  glittering 
points,  about  the  size  of  mus- 
tard seed,  concealed  and  pro- 
tected by  the  surrounding  skin 
and  hair  "  [dim  curtain]. — Ap- 
pletons'  Cyclop&dia. — "Beam" 
(literally  a  collection  of  rays 
emitted  from  any  luminous 
body)  has  reference  to  the  sup- 
posed wonderful  power  of  sight 
possessed  by  the  lynx. 

214.  tainted  green:  that  is,  a  field  in 
which  is  the  scent  or  odor  of 
game. 

218.  Feels.  Supply  if,  meaning  the 
spider. 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  IgI 

In  the  nice  bee,  what  sense  so  subtly*  true 

From  poisonous  herbs  extracts  the  healing  dew  ?  Z2o 

How  instinct  varies  in  the  grovelling  swine, 

Compared,  half-reasoning  elephant,  with  thine  ! 

'Twixt  that  and  reason,  what  a  nice  barrier — 

Forever  separate,  yet  forever  near  ! 

Remembrance  and  reflection  how  allied  !  225 

What  thin  partitions  sense  from  thought  divide  ! 

And  middle  natures,  how  they  long  to  join, 

Yet  never  pass  the  insuperable  *  line  ! 

Without  this  just  gradation,  could  they  be 

Subjected,  these  to  those,  or  all  to  thee  ?  230 

The  powers  of  all  subdued  by  thee  alone, 

Is  not  thy  reason  all  these  powers  in  one  ? 

See,  through  this  air,  this  ocean  and  this  earth, 
All  matter  quick,  and  bursting  into  birth. 
Above,  how  high  progressive  life  may  go  !  235 

Around,  how  wide  !  how  deep  extend  below  !     • 
Vast  chain  of  being  !  which  from  God  began, 
Natures  ethereal,  human,  angel,  man, 
Beast,  bird,  fish,  insect,  what  no  eye  can  see, 
No  glass  can  reach  ;  from  infinite  to  thee,  240 

From  thee  to  nothing.     On  superior  powers 
Were  we  to  press,  inferior  might  on  ours ; 
Or  in  the  full  creation  leave  a  void, 
Where,  one  step  broken,  the  great  scale's  destroyed : 
From  Nature's  chain  whatever  link  you  strike,  245 

Tenth,  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  the  chain  alike. 

And,  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll 
Alike  essential  to  the  amazing  whole, 
The  least  confusion  but  in  one,  not  all 
That  system  only,  but  the  whole  must  fall.  250 


219.  nice  bee.  The  word  "nice"  is 
here  used  in  its  subjective  sense 
— fine-sensed,  sensitive. 

223.  barrier  —  pronounce  bar  -  year'  : 
the  word  was  nut  completely 
naturalized  in  Pope's  day,  and 
II 


hence  retained  its  French  ac- 
cent. 

226.  sense  from  thought  divide :  that  is, 
sensation  from  reason. 

234.  quick,  alive. 

240.  glass,  microscope. 


162 


POPE. 


Let  earth  unbalanced  from  her  orbit  fly, 
Planets  and  suns  run  lawless  through  the  sky; 
Let  ruling  angels  from  their  spheres  be  hurled, 
Being  on  being  wrecked,  and  world  on  world ; 
Heaven's  whole  foundations  to  their  centre  nod, 
And  nature  trembles  to  the  throne  of  God. 
All  this  dread  order  break — for  whom  ?  for  thee  r 
Vile  worm  ! — O  madness  !  pride  !  impiety  ! 

What  if  the  foot,  ordained  the  dust  to  tread, 
Or  hand,  to  toil,  aspired  to  be  the  head  ? 
What  if  the  head,  the  eye,  or  ear  repined 
To  serve  mere  engines  to  the  ruling  mind  ? 
Just  as  absurd*  for  any  part  to  claim 
To  be  another  in  this  general  frame ; 
Just  as  absurd  to  mourn  the  tasks  or  pains 
The  great  directing  Mind  of  all  ordains. 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame, 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees, 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns 
As  the  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns : 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all. 


255 


260 


265 


270 


275 


280 


251-256.  Let  earth  .   .  .  God.       The 

meaning  here  is,  should  earth 
fly  unbalanced  from  its  centre, 
then  would  planets  and  suns 
run  lawless  through  the  sky. 
So,  also,  if  ruling  angels  should, 
etc.,  then  heaven's  whole  foun- 
dations would  nod  to  their  cen- 


tre and  nature  would  tremble, 
etc. 

262.  to  serre  mere  engines:    that  is,  to 

serve  as  mere  engines. 

263.  Just  as  absurd:  that  is,  to   do  so 

would  be  just  as  absurd,  etc. 
269.  That.     The  antecedent  is  "  soul " 
=  the  soul  of  the  universe,  God, 


ESSAY  ON  MAM  ^3 

Cease,  then,  nor  order  imperfection  name: 
Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame. 
Know  thy  own  point :  this  kind,  this  due  degree 
Of  blindness,  weakness,  Heaven  bestows  on  thee. 
Submit.     In  this  or  any  other  sphere,  2»i 

Secure*  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear: 
Safe  in  the  hand  of  one  disposing  power, 
Or  in  the  natal  or  the  mortal*  hour. 
All  nature  is  but  art,  unknown  to  thee ; 

All  chance,  direction,  which  thou  canst  not  see ;  390 

All  discord,  harmony  not  understood ; 
All  partial  evil,  universal  good. 
And,  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear — Whatever  is,  is  right. 


286.  Secure,  confident 


X. 

BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN. 

1706-1790. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  LORD  JEFFREY.1 

i.  In  one  point  of  view,  the  name  of  Franklin  must  be  consid- 
ered as  standing  higher  than  any  of  the  others  which  illustrated 
the  eighteenth  century.  Distinguished  as  a  statesman,  he  was 

1  Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  xxviii 


JEFFREY'S   CHARACTERIZATION-.  T65 

equally  great  as  a  philosopher,  thus  uniting  in  himself  a  rare  de- 
gree of  excellence  in  both  those  pursuits,  to  excel  in  either  of 
which  is  deemed  the  highest  praise.  Nor  was  his  pre-eminence 
in  the  one  pursuit  of  that  doubtful  kind  which  derives  its  value 
from  such  an  uncommon  conjunction.  His  efforts  in  each  were 
sufficient  to  have  made  him  greatly  famous  had  he  done  nothing 
in  the  other.  We  regard  De  Witt's  mathematical  tracts  as  a  curi- 
osity, and  even  admire  them  when  we  reflect  that  their  author 
was  a  distinguished  patriot  and  a  sufferer  in  the  cause  of  his 
country.  But  Franklin  would  have  been  entitled  to  the  glory  of 
a  first-rate  discoverer  in  science — one  who  had  largely  extended 
the  bounds  of  human  knowledge  —  although  he  had  not  stood 
second  to  Washington  alone  in  gaining  for  human  liberty  the 
most  splendid  and  guiltless  of  its  triumphs.  It  is  hardly  a  less 
rare,  certainly  not  a  less  glorious,  felicity  that,  much  as  has  been 
given  to  the  world  of  this  great  man's  works,  each  successive 
publication  increases  our  esteem  for  his  virtues,  and  our  admira- 
tion of  his  understanding. 

2.  The  distinguishing  feature  of  his  understanding  was  great 
soundness  and  sagacity,  combined  with  extraordinary  quickness 
of  penetration.     He  possessed  also  a  strong  and  lively  imagina- 
tion, which  gave  his  speculations,  as  well  as  his  conduct,  a  singu- 
larly original  turn.     The  peculiar  charm  of  his  writings,  and  his 
great  merit,  also,  in  action,  consisted  in  the  clearness  with  which 
he  saw  his  object,  and  the  bold  and  steady  pursuit  of  it  by  the 
surest  and  the  shortest  road.     He  never  suffered  himself  in  con- 
duct to  be  turned  aside  by  the  seductions  of  interest  or  vanity, 
or  to  be  scared  by  hesitation  and  fear,  or  to  be  misled  by  the  arts 
of  his  adversaries.     Neither  did  he,  in  discussion,  ever  go  out  of 
his  way  in  search  of  ornament,  or  stop  short  from  dread  of  the 
consequences.     He  never  could  be  caught,  in  short,  acting  ab- 
surdly or  writing  nonsensically.      At  all  times,  and  in  every 
thing  he  undertook,  the  vigor  of  an  understanding  at  once  origi- 
nal and  practical  was  distinctly  perceivable. 

3.  But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  his  writings  are  devoid  of 
ornament  or  amusement.     The  latter  especially  abounds  in  al- 
most all  he  ever  composed ;  only  nothing  is  sacrificed  to  them. 
On  the  contrary,  they  come  most  naturally  into  their  places  ;  and 
they  uniformly  help  on  the  purpose  in  hand,  of  which  neither 


!66  FRANKLIN. 

writer  nor  reader  ever  loses  sight  for  an  instant.  Thus,  his  style 
has  all  the  vigor,  and  even  conciseness,  of  Swift,  without  any  of 
his  harshness.  It  is  in  no  degree  more  flowery,  yet  both  elegant 
and  lively.  The  wit,  or  rather  humor,  which  prevails  in  his  works 
varies  with  the  subject.  Sometimes  he  is  bitter  and  sarcastic ; 
oftener  gay,  and  even  droll,  reminding  us  in  this  respect  far  more 
frequently  of  Addison  than  of  Swift,  as  might  be  naturally  ex 
pected  from  his  admirable  temper  or  the  happy  turn  of  his  im- 
agination. When  he  rises  into  vehemence  or  severity,  it  is  only 
when  his  country  or  the  rights  of  men  are  attacked,  or  when  the 
sacred  ties  of  humanity  are  violated  by  unfeeling  or  insane 
rulers. 

4.  There  is  nothing  more  delightful  than  the  constancy  with 
which  those  amiable  feelings,  those  sound  principles,  those  truly 
profound  views  of  human  affairs  make  their  appearance  at  every 
opportunity,  whether  the  immediate  subject  be  speculative  or 
practical,  of  a  political  or  of  a  more  general  description.  It  is 
refreshing  to  find  such  a  mind  as  Franklin's^-worthy  of  a  place 
near  to  Newton  and  to  Washington — filled  with  those  pure  and 
exalted  sentiments  of  concern  for  the  happiness  of  mankind 
which  the  petty  wits  of  our  times  amuse  themselves  with  laugh- 
ing at,  and  their  more  cunning  and  calculating  employers  seek 
by  every  means  to  discourage,  sometimes  by  ridicule,  sometimes 
by  invective,  as  truly  incompatible  with  all  plans  of  misgovern- 
ment. 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


167 


FROM   FRANKLIN'S   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extract  is  from  Benjamin  Franklin's  Auto- 
biography, which,  as  he  himself  informs  us  in  it,  was  written  in  his  "  seventy- 
ninth  year;"  that  is,  in  1785,  the  year  he  returned  from  Paris,  where  he  had 
lived  for  several  years  as  American  plenipotentiary,  and  where,  in  1782,  he 
signed  the  Treaty  of  Peace.  This  work,  as  first  brought  out  in  London,  was 
garbled  by  his  grandson,  William  Temple  Franklin ;  and  it  was  not  until  aji 
few  years  ago  that  an  edition  which  follows  the  original  with  literal  exactness' 
was  published,  under  the  supervision  of  Mr.  John  Bigelow.  In  the  extract 
here  given  this  text  is  followed,  with  the  single  exception  that  the  spelling  is 
modernized.] 

i.  I  was  put  to  the  grammar-school  at  eight  years  of  age,  my 
father  intending  to  devote  me,  as  the  tithe  of  his  sons,  to  the 
service  of  the  church.  My  early  readiness  in  learning  to  read 
(which  must  have  been  very  early,  as  I  do  not  remember  when  I 
could  not  read),  and  the  opinion  of  all  his  friends  that  I  should 
certainly  make  a  good  scholar,  encouraged  him  in  this  purpose  of 
his.  My  uncle  Benjamin,  too,  approved  of  it,  and  proposed  to 
give  me  all  his  short-hand  volumes  of  sermons,  I  suppose  as  a 


NOTE'S. — Line  I.  grammar-school.  This 
was,  of  course,  the  grammar- 
school  of  Boston,  where  Frank- 
lin was  born.  The  institution 
of  common  schools  in  Massa- 
chusetts dates  from  1647 ;  that 
is,  from  the  seventeenth  year  of 
the  first  founding  of  the  colony. 
In  the  law  establishing  public 
schools  is  the  following  clause  : 
"  It  is  further  ordered  that  when 
any  town  shall  increase  to  the 
number  of  one  hundred  families 
or  "householders,  they  shall  set 
up  a  grammar-school,  the  mas- 
ter thereof  being  able  to  instruct 
youth  so  far  as  they  may  be 
fitted  for  the  university." — PAL- 
FREY :  History  of  New  England, 


vol.  ii.,  page  263. — eight  years  of 
age.  This  must  have  been  in 
1714,  as  Franklin  was  born  in 
1706. 

2.  the  tithe.  The  "  tithe  "  is  the  tenth 
part,  and  specifically  the  tenth 
part  of  the  increase  arising  from 
the  profits  of  land  and  stock,  al- 
lotted to  the  clergy  for  their 
support.  The  Franklin  family 
included  seventeen  children,  of 
whom  ten  were  sons. 

8.  short-hand,  etc  His  "  uncle  Benja- 
min "  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
listening  to  the  best  preachers, 
both  in  the  Old  Country  and  in 
Boston,  and  taking  down  their 
discourses  in  a  short-hand  of 
his  own  invention. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1-31.  What  is  the  distinguishing  quality  of  Frank- 
lin's style  ?  (See  Def.  49.) — Is  there  a  single  uncommon  word  in  the  first 
paragraph  ? — Is  there  a  single  periodic  sentence  in  this  paragraph  ? 


1 68 


FRANKLIN. 


stock  to  set  up  with,  if  I  would  learn  his  character.    I  continued, 
however,  at  the  grammar-school  not  quite  one  year,  though  in  10 
that  time  I  had  risen  gradually  from  the  middle  of  the  class  of 
that  year  to  be  the  head  of  it,  and,  farther,  was  removed  into  the 
next  class  above  it,  in  order  to  go  with  that  into  the  third  at  the 
end  of  the  year.     But  my  father,  in  the  meantime,  from  a  view 
of  the  expense  of  a  college  education,  which,  having  so  large  a  rS 
family,  he  could  not  well  afford,  and  the  mean  living  many  so 
educated  were  afterwards  able  to  obtain  —  reasons  that  he  gave 
to  his  friends  in  my  hearing — altered  his  first  intention,  took  me 
trom  the  grammar-school,  and  sent  me  to  a  school  for  writing  and 
arithmetic,  kept  by  a  then  famous  man,  Mr.  George  Brownell,  ao 
very  successful  in  his  profession  generally,  and  that  by  mild,  en- 
couraging methods.     Under  him  I  acquired  fair  writing  pretty 
soon,  but  I  failed  in  the  arithmetic,  and  made  no  progress  in  it. 
At  ten  years  old  I  was  taken  home  to  assist  my  father  in  his 
business,  which  was  that  of  a  tallow-chandler  and  soap-boiler — a  as 
business  he  was  not  bred  to,  but  had  assumed  on  his  arrival  in 
New  England,  and  on  finding  his  dyeing  trade  would  not  main- 
tain his  family,  being  in  little  request.     Accordingly,  I  was  em- 
ployed in  cutting  wick  for  the  candles,  filling  the  dipping-mould 
and  the  moulds  for  cast  candles,  attending  the  shop,  going  of  .10 
errands,  etc. 

2.  I  disliked  the  trade,  and  had  a  strong  inclination  for  the 
sea,  but  my  father  declared  against  it.  However,  living  near  the 
water,  I  was  much  in  and  about  it,  learned  early  to  swim  well, 
and  to  manage  boats ;  and  when  in  a  boat  or  canoe  with  other  35 
boys,  I  was  commonly  allowed  to  govern,  especially  in  any  case 
of  difficulty.  And  upon  other  occasions  I  was  generally  a  leader 
among  the  boys,  and  sometimes  led  them  into  scrapes,  of  which 


9.  his  character:  that  is,  his  method 

of  short-hand. 
12.  farther.     More  correctly  further. 


26,  27.  arrival  In  New  England.  Frank- 
lin's father  emigrated  from  Old 
to  New  England  in  1682. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 32,  33.  inclination  for  the  sea.     What  is  the  figure 
of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  29.) 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


169 


I  will  mention  one  instance,  as  it  shows  an  early  projecting  pub- 
lic spirit,  though  not  then  justly  conducted.  4o 

3.  There  was  a  salt  marsh  that  bounded  part  of  the  mill-pond, 
on  the  edge  of  which,  at  high-water,  we  used  to  stand  to  fish  for 
minnows.*     By  much  trampling,  we  had  made  it  a  mere  quag- 
mire.*    My  proposal  was  to  build  a  wharf  there  fit  for  us  to 
stand  upon,  and  I  showed  my  comrades  a  large  heap  of  stones  45 
which  were  intended  for  a  new  house  near  the  marsh,  and  which 
would  very  well  suit  our  purpose.     Accordingly,  in  the  evening, 
when  the  workmen  were  gone,  I  assembled  a  number  of  my  play- 
fellows, and  working  with  them  diligently  like  so  many  emmets, 
sometimes  two  or  three  to  a  stone,  we  brought  them  all  away,  so 
and  built  our  little  wharf.     The  next  morning  the  workmen  were 
surprised  at  missing  the  stones,  which  were  found  in  our  wharf. 
Inquiry  was  made  after  the  removers ;  we  were  discovered,  and 
complained  of ;  several  of  us  were  corrected  by  our  fathers  ;  and, 
though  I  pleaded  the  usefulness  of  the  work,  mine  convinced  me  55 
that  nothing  was  useful  which  was  not  honest. 

4.  I  think  you  may  like  to  know  something  of  his  person  and 
character.     He  had  an  excellent  constitution  of  body,  was  of 
middle  stature/but  well  set,  and  very  strong.    He  was  ingenious, 
could  draw  prettily,  was  skilled  a  little  in  music,  and  had  a  clear,  60 
pleasing  voice ;  so  that  when  he  played  psalm  tunes  on  his  violin 
and  sung  withal,  as  he  sometimes  did  in  an  evening  after  the 
business  of  the  day  was  over,  it  was  extremely  agreeable  to  hear. 
He  had  a  mechanical  genius  too,  and,  on  occasion,  was  very 
handy  in  the  use  of  other  tradesmen's  tools ;  but  his  great  excel-  6S 
lence  lay  in  a  sound  understanding  and  solid  judgment  in  pru- 
dential matters,  both  in  private  and  public  affairs.    In  the  latter, 


39.  projecting,  enterprising.  i  quiring   the   exercise    of   pru- 

66,  67.  prudential  matters  =  matters  re-  j  dence  or  foresight. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  39,  40.  it ...  conducted.  Substitute  synonymous 
terms  for  the  following  italicized  words  :  "  It  shows  an  early  projecting  public 
spirit,  though  not  ihenjusffy  conducted" 

41-43.  There  was  . .  .  minnows.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

43,  44.  minnows  . .  .  quagmire.  What  is  the  derivation  of  "  minnow  ?"  Of 
"quagmire?" 

49.  like  so  many  emmets.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  19.) 

62.  sung.     Modernize  this  form. 


1 70  FRANKLIN. 

indeed,  he  was  never  employed,  the  numerous  family  he  had  to 
educate  and  the   straitness  of  his  circumstances  keeping  him 
close  to  his  trade  ;  but  I  remember  well  his  being  frequently  70 
visited  by  leading  people,  who  consulted  him  for  his  opinion  in 
affairs  of  the  town  or  of  the  church  he  belonged  to,  and  showed 
a  good  deal  of  respect  for  his  judgment  and  advice.     He  was 
also  much  consulted  by  private  persons  about  their  affairs  when 
any  difficulty  occurred,  and  frequently  chosen  an  arbitrator  be-  75 
tween  contending  parties.    At  his  table  he  liked  to  have,  as  often 
as  he  could,  some  sensible  friend  or  neighbor  to  converse  with, 
and  always  took  care  to  start  some  ingenious  or  useful  topic  for 
discourse,  which  might  tend  to  improve  the  minds  of  his  children. 
By  this  means  he  turned  our  attention  to  what  was  good,  just,  &> 
and  prudent  in  the  conduct  of  life  ;  and  little  or  no  notice  was 
ever  taken  of  what  related  to  the  victuals  *  on  the  table,  whether 
it  was  well  or  ill  dressed,  in  or  out  of  season,  of  good  or  bad  fla- 
vor, preferable  or  inferior  to  this  or  that  other  thing  of  the  kind  ; 
so  that  I  was  brought  up  in  such  a  perfect  inattention  to  those  85 
matters  as  to  be  quite  indifferent  what  kind  of  food  was  set  be- 
fore me,  and  so  unobservant  of  it  that,  to  this  day,  if  I  am  asked 
I  can  scarce  tell,  a  few  hours  after  dinner,  what  I  dined  upon. 
This  has  been  a  convenience  to  me  in  travelling,  where  my  com- 
panions have  been  sometimes  very  unhappy  for  want  of  a  suita-  90 
ble  gratification  of  their  more  delicate,  because  better  instructed, 
tastes  and  appetites. 

5.  To  return  :  I  continued  thus  employed  in  my  father's  busi- 
ness for  two  years,  that  is,  till  I  was  twelve  years  old  ;  and  my 
brother  John,  who  was  bred  to  that  business,  having  left  my  95 
father,  married,  and  set  up  for  himself  at  Rhode  Island,  there 
was  all  appearance  that  I  was  destined  to  supply  his  place,  and 
become  a  tallow-chandler.  But  my  dislike  to  the  trade  continu- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 72.  the  church  he  belonged  to.  Change  this  expres- 
sion into  the  modern  literary  form,  by  supplying  the  relative  and  transposing 
the  preposition.  Would  this  form  be  any  better  for  the  purposes  of  simple 
narration  ? 

83.  it.  What  noun  does  "  it "  represent  ?  Is  there  any  grammatical  error 
here? 

85.  a  perfect  inattention.     Should  we  now  use  the  article  ? 

96,  97.  there  *as  all  appearance.     Substitute  a  synonymous  expression. 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


171 


ing,  my  father  was  under  apprehensions  that  if  he  did  not  find 
one  for  me  more  agreeable,  I  should  break  away  and  get  to  sea,  100 
as  his  son  Josiah  had  done,  to  his  great  vexation.  He  therefore 
sometimes  took  me  to  walk  with  him,  and  see  joiners,  bricklay- 
ers, turners,  braziers,  etc.,  at  their  work,  that  he  might  observe 
my  inclination  and  endeavor  to  fix  it  on  some  trade  or  other  on 
land.  It  has  ever  since  been  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  good  work- 105 
men  handle  their  tools ;  and  it  has  been  useful  to  me,  having 
learned  so  much  by  it  as  to  be  able  to  do  little  jobs  myself  in 
my  house  when  a  workman  could  not  readily  be  got,  and  to  con- 
struct little  machines  for  my  experiments  while  the  intention  of 
making  the  experiment  was  fresh  and  warm  in  my  mind.  My  na 
father  at  last  fixed  upon  the  cutler's  trade,  and  my  uncle  Benja- 
min's son,  Samuel,  who  was  bred  to  that  business  in  London, 
being  about  that  time  established  in  Boston,  I  was  sent  to  be 
with  him  some  time  on  liking.  But  his  expectations  of  a  fee 
with  me  displeasing  my  father,  I  was  taken  home  again.  m 

6.  From  a  child  I  was  fond  of  reading,  and  all  the  little  money 
that  came  into  my  hands  was  ever  laid  out  in  books.  Pleased 
with  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  my  first  collection  was  of  John  Bun- 
yan's  works,  in  separate  little  volumes.  I  afterwards  sold  them 
to  enable  me  to  buy  R.  Burton's  Historical  Collections ;  they  were  120 
small  chapmen's  books,  and  cheap,  forty  or  fifty  in  all.  My 
father's  little  library  consisted  chiefly  of  books  in  polemic  divin- 
ity, most  of  which  I  read,  and  have  since  often  regretted  that,  at 
a  time  when  I  had  such  a  thirst  for  knowledge,  more  proper 


114.  on  liking:  that  is,  on  trial,  at  the 
pleasure  of  both  parties. — a  fee, 
a  sum  of  money  paid  to  a  mas- 
ter when  an  apprentice  is  bound 
to  him. 

120.  B.  Burton's  Historical  Collections. 
"  Robert  Burton "  is  a  name 
which  occurs  in  the  title-page 
of  a  number  of  very  popular 
historical  and  miscellaneous 


compilations,  published  (and 
supposed  to  have  been  written) 
by  Nathaniel  Crouch  of  Lon- 
don, from  1681  to  1736.  The 
name  must  not  be  confounded 
with  that  of  Robert  Burton,  the 
author  of  the  famous  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy. 

121.  chapmen,  peddlers. 

122.  polemic,  controversial. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — no.  fresh  and  narm. 
warm  "  used  literally  or  figuratively  ? 


Are  the  words  "  fresh  "  and 


172 


FRANKLIN. 


books  had  not  fallen  in  my  way,  since  it  was  now  resolved  1 125 
should  not  be  a  clergyman.     Plutarch's  Lives  .there  was,  in  which 
I  read  abundantly,  and  I  still  think  that  time  spent  to  great  ad- 
vantage.    There  was  also  a  book  of  De  Foe's,  called  an  Essay 
on  Projects,  and   another  of  Dr.  Mather's,  called  Essays  to  Do 
Good,  which  perhaps  gave  me  a  turn  of  thinking  that  had  an  in- 130 
rluence  on  some  of  the  principal  future  events  of  my  life. 

7.  This  bookish  inclination  at  length  determined  my  father  to 
make  me  a  printer,  though  he  had  already  one  son  (James)  of 
that  profession.     In  1717  my  brother  James  returned  from  Eng- 
land with  a  press  and  letters,  to  set  up  his  business  in  Boston.  ,35 
I  liked  it  much  better  than  that  of  my  father,  but  still  had  a  han- 
kering for  the  sea.     To  prevent  the  apprehended  effect  of  such 
an  inclination,  my  father  was  impatient  to  have  me  bound  to  my 
brother.     I  stood  out  some  time,  but  at  last  was  persuaded,  and 
signed  the  indentures  when  I  was  yet  but  twelve  years  old.      1 140 
was  to  serve  as  an  apprentice  till  I  was  twenty-one  years  of 
age,  only  I  was  to  be  allowed  journeyman's  wages  during  the 
last  year.     In  a  little  time  I  made  great  proficiency  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  became  a  useful  hand  to  my  brother.     I  now  had  ac- 
cess to  better  books.     An  acquaintance  with  the  apprentices  of  i4S 
booksellers  enabled  me  sometimes  to  borrow  a  small  one,  which 


126.  Plutarch's  Lives.  This  famous 
work,  styled  by  R.  W.  Emerson 
"the  Bible  of  heroisms,"  was 
the  production  of  Plutarch,  a 
Greek  biographer,  who  lived  in 
the  first  century  of  the  Christian 
era. 

128,  129.  Essay  on  Projects.  This  is 
one  of  the  numerous  works  of 
the  author  of  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  was  published  in  1697. 


129,  130.  Essays  to  Do  Good.  This  work 
is  by  Rev.  Dr.  Cotton  Mather, 
a  learned  New  England  divine, 
and  a  voluminous  author.  He 
was  born  in  Boston,  1663  ;  died 
1728. 

135.  letters:  that  is,  a  supply  of  print- 
ing type. 

140.  indentures,  the  written  agreement 
or  contract  between  master  and 
apprentice. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  126.  Plutarch's  Lives  there  was.  This  is  one  of 
Franklin's  few  inversions  of  construction.  Transpose  into  the  direct  order. 

132-150.  This  bookish  . .  .  wanted.  Point  out  three  or  more  colloquial  words 
or  expressions  in  paragraph  7. 

142.  only.     To  what  conjunction  is  "  only  "  here  equivalent  ? 

144.  hand.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  28.) 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


I  was  careful  to  return  soon  and  clean.  Often  I  sat  up  in  my 
room  reading  the  greatest  part  of  the  night,  when  the  book  was 
borrowed  in  the  evening  and  to  be  returned  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, lest  it  should  be  missed  or  wanted.  ,50 

8.  And  after  some  time  an  ingenious  tradesman,  Mr.  Matthew 
Adams,  who  had  a  pretty  collection  of  books,  and  who  frequented 
our  printing-house,  took  notice  of  me,  invited  me  to  his  library, 
and  very  kindly  lent  me  such  books  as  I  chose  to  read.     I  now 
took  a  fancy  to  poetry,  and  made  some  little  pieces.    My  brother,  155 
thinking  it  might  turn  to  account,  encouraged  me,  and  put  me  on 
composing  occasional  ballads.     One  was  called  The  Lighthouse 
Tragedy,  and  contained  an  account  of  the  drowning  of  Captain 
Worthilake,  with  his  two  daughters  ;  the  other  was   a  sailor's 
song,  on  the  taking  of  Teach  (or  Blackbeard),  the  pirate.     They  160 
were  wretched  stuff,  in  the  Grub  Street  ballad  style  ;  and  when 
they  were  printed  he  sent  me  about  the  town  to  sell  them.     The 
first  sold  wonderfully,  the   event  being  recent,  having  made   a 
great  noise.    This  flattered  my  vanity ;  but  my  father  discouraged 
me  by  ridiculing  my  performances,  and  telling  me  verse-makers  165 
were  generally  beggars.     So  I  escaped  being  a  poet,  most  prob- 
ably a  very  bad  one  ;  but  as  prose-writing  has  been  of  great  use 

to  me  in  the  course  of  my  life,  and  was  a  principal  means  of  my 
advancement,  I  shall  tell  you  how,  in  such  a  situation,  I  acquired 
what  little  ability  I  have  in  that  way.  ...  170 

9.  About  this  time  I  met  with  an  odd  volume  of  the  Spectator. 


161. 


Grub  Street.  A  street  in  London 
(now  called  Milton  Street}, 
"much  inhabited  [in  the  i8th 
century]  by  writers  of  small  his- 
tories, dictionaries,  and  tempo- 


rary poems,  whence  any  mean 
production      is      called     grub- 
street." — DR.  JOHNSON. 
171.  The  Spectator.     See  page   129  of 
this  book. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 152.  pretty  collection.  What  is  the  force  of  "pret- 
ty "  here  ? 

156,  157.  put  me  on  composing.     Modernize  this  expression. 

163,  164.  made  a  great  noise.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

171-208.  Write  out  an  abstract  from  memory  of  the  method  taken  by  Frank- 
lin to  cultivate  his  powers  of  expression,  enlarge  his  vocabulary,  etc.  (Para- 
graph 9.) 


'74 


FRANKLIN. 


It  was  the  third.  I  had  never  before  seen  any  of  them.  I 
bought  it,  read  it  over  and  over,  and  was  much  delighted  with 
it.  I  thought  the  writing  excellent,  and  wished,  if  possible, 
to  imitate  it.  With  this  view  I  took  some  of  the  papers,  and,  175 
making  short  hints  of  the  sentiment  in  each  sentence,  laid  them 
by  a  few  days,  and  then,  without  looking  at  the  book,  tried  to 
complete  the  papers  again  by  expressing  each  hinted  senti- 
ment at  length,  and  as  fully  as  it  had  been  expressed  before, 
in  any  suitable  words  that  should  come  to  hand.  Then  I  com-  i3o 
pared  my  Spectator  with  the  original,  discovered  some  of  my 
faults,  and  corrected  them.  But  I  found  I  wanted  a  stock  of 
words,  or  a  readiness  in  recollecting  and  using  them,  which  I 
thought  I  should  have  acquired  before  that  time  if  I  had  gone 
on  making  verses ;  since  the  continual  occasion  for  words  of  185 
the  same  import,  but  of  different  length,  to  suit  the  measure, 
or  of  different  sound  for  the  rhyme,  would  have  laid  me  under 
a  constant  necessity  of  searching  for  variety,  and  also  have 
tended  to  fix  that  variety  in  my  mind,  and  make  me  master  of 
it.  Therefore  I  took  some  of  the  tales  and  turned  them  into  190 
verse,  and,  after  a  time,  when  I  had  pretty  well  forgotten  the 
prose,  turned  them  back  again.  I  also  sometimes  jumbled  my 
collections  of  hints  into  confusion,  and  after  some  weeks  en- 
deavored to  reduce  them  into  the  best  order,  before  I  began  to 
form  the  full  sentences  and  complete  the  paper.  This  was  to  195 
teach  me  method  in  the  arrangement  of  thoughts.  By  compar- 
ing my  work  afterwards  with  the  original,  I  discovered  many 
faults  and  amended  them ;  but  I  sometimes  had  the  pleasure  of 
fancying  that,  in  certain  particulars  of  small  import,  I  had  been 
lucky  enough  to  improve  the  method  or  the  language  ;  and  this  200 
encouraged  me  to  think  I  might  possibly  in  time  come  to  be  a 
tolerable  English  writer,  of  which  I  was  extremely  ambitious. 
My  time  for  these  exercises  and  for  reading  was  at  night,  after 
work,  or  before  it  began  in  the  morning,  or  on  Sundays,  when  I 
contrived  to  be  in  the  printing-house  alone,  evading  as  much  as  205 
I  could  the  common  attendance  on  public  worship  which  my  fa- 
ther used  to  exact  of  me  when  I  was  under  his  care,  and  which 
indeed  I  still  thought  a  duty,  though  I  could  not,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  afford  time  to  practise  it. 

10.  While  I  was  intent  on  improving  my  language,  I  met  with  210 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


an  English  grammar  (I  think  it  was  Greenwood's),  at  the  end  of 
which  there  was  two  little  sketches  of  the  arts  of  rhetoric  and 
logic,  the  latter  finishing  with  a  dispute  in  the  Socratic  method ; 
and,  soon  after,  I  procured  Xenophon's  Memorable  Things  of 
Socrates,  wherein  are  many  instances  of  the  same  method.  1 215 
found  this  method  safest  for  myself  and  very  embarrassing  to 
those  against  whom  I  used  it ;  therefore  I  took  a  delight  in  it, 
practised  it  continually,  and  grew  very  artful  and  expert  in  draw- 
ing people,  even  of  superior  knowledge,  into  concessions,  the 
consequences  of  which  they  did  not  foresee,  entangling  them  in  220 
difficulties  out  of  which  they  could  not  extricate  themselves,  and 
so  obtaining  victories  that  neither  myself  nor  my  cause  always 
deserved.  .  .  . 

ii.  I  continued  this  method  some  few  years,  but  gradually  left 
it,  retaining  only  the  habit  of  expressing  myself  in  terms  of  mod-  725 
est  diffidence  ;  never  using,  when  I  advanced  anything  that  may 
possibly  be  disputed,  the  words  certainly,  undoubtedly,  or  any  oth- 
ers that  give  the  air  of  positiveness  to  an  opinion  ;  but  rather 
say,  I  conceive  or  apprehend  a  thing  to  be  so  and  so ;  it  appears 


211.  Greenwood's.  There  was  an  Eng- 
lish grammar  by  James  Green- 
wood, published  in  London  in 
1711. 

213.  Socratic  method,  the  mode  of  argu- 
ing pursued  by  Socrates,  the 
illustrious  Greek  philosopher 
(B.C.  about  471-399).  The 
method  consisted  in  systematic 
cross-examination,  Socrates  as- 


suming the  character  of  an  ig- 
norant learner  till  he  involved 
his  opponent  in  contradictory 
answers. 

214.  Xenophon,  born  about  B.C.  444, 
was  a  distinguished  soldier  and 
in  youth  was  a  pupil  of  Socra- 
tes, whose  sayings  he  recorded 
in  the  work  usually  called  the 
Memorabilia. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  212.  there  was  two  little  sketches.  Indicate  the 
grammatical  fault. 

215-223.  Substitute  synonymous  terms  for  the  italicized  words  in  the  follow- 
ing :  I  found  this  method  safest  for  myself  and  very  embarrassing  to  those 
against  whom  I  used  it ;  therefore  I  took  a  delight  in  it,  practised  it  continually, 
and  grew  very  artful  and  expert  in  drawing  people,  even  of  superior  knowledge, 
into  concessions,  the  consequences  of  which  they  did  not  foresee,  entangling  them 
in  difficulties  out  of  which  they  could  not  extricate  themselves,  and  so  obtaining 
victories  that  neither  myself  nor  my  cause  always  deserved." — It  may  be  ob- 
served that,  perhaps  influenced  by  his  subject,  Franklin  in  this  sentence  em  - 
ploys,  a  for  him  unusual  number  of  what  may  be  called  bookish  words. 


FRANKLIN. 


to  me,  or,  /  should  think  it  so  or  so,  for  such  and  such  reasons  ;  or,  230 
/  imagine  it  to  be  so  ;  or,  it  is  so,  if  I  am  not  mistaken.  This  habit, 
I  believe,  has  been  of  great  advantage  to  me  when  I  have  had  oc- 
casion to  inculcate  my  opinions,  and  persuade  men  into  measures 
that  I  have  been  from  time  to  time  engaged  in  promoting  ;  and, 
as  the  chief  ends  of  conversation  are  to  inform  or  to  be  informed,  235 
to  please  or  to  persuade,  I  wish  well-meaning,  sensible  men  would 
not  lessen  their  power  of  doing  good  by  a  positive,  assuming 
manner,  that  seldom  fails  to  disgust,  tends  to  create  opposition, 
and  to  defeat  every  one  of  those  purposes  for  which  speech  was 
given  us  —  to  wit,  giving  or  receiving  information  or  pleasure.  For  240 
if  you  would  inform,  a  positive  and  dogmatical  manner  in  ad- 
vancing your  sentiments  may  provoke  contradiction,  and  prevent 
a  candid  attention.  If  you  wish  information  and  improvement 
from  the  knowledge  of  others,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  express 
yourself  as  firmly  fixed  in  your  present  opinions,  modest,  sensi-  245 
ble  men,  who  do  not  love  disputation,  will  probably  leave  you 
undisturbed  in  possession  of  your  error.  And  by  such  a  man- 
ner, you  can  seldom  hope  to  recommend  yourself  in  pleasing 
your  hearers,  or  to  persuade  those  whose  concurrence  you  de- 
sire. Pope  says,  judiciously  :  25o 

"  Men  must  be  taught  as  if  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  forgot  ;" 

further  recommending  to  us 

"  To  speak,  though  sure,  with  seeming  diffidence." 

And  he  might  have  coupled  with  this  line  that  which  he  has  255 
coupled  with  another,  I  think,  less  properly, 

"  For  want  of  modesty  is  want  of  sense." 

If  you  ask,  why  less  properly  ?  I  must  repeat  the  lines  — 

"  Immodest  words  admit  of  no  defence, 
For  want  of  modesty  is  want  of  sense."  260 

Now,  is  not  "  want  of  sense  "  (where  a  man  is  so  unfortunate  as 


251, 


252.  Men  .  .  .  forgot.      The   lines 
are  from  Pope's  Essay  on  Criti- 
cism. 
254.  To  speak  .  .  .  diffidence.     This  line 


is  from  the  poem  named  in  the 
previous  note. 

259,  260.  Immodest  .  .  .  sense.      From 
the  same  poem. 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  I7y 

to  want   it)  some  apology  for  his  "  want  of  modesty  ?"     And 
would  not  the  lines  stand  more  justly  thus  ? 

"  Immodest  words  admit  but  this  defence, 
That  want  of  modesty  is  want  of  sense."  265 

This,  however,  I  submit  to  better  judgments. 

12.  My  brother  had,  in  1720  or  1721,  begun  to  print  a  news- 
paper.    It  was  the  second  that  appeared  in  America,  and  was 
called  the  New  England  Courant.     The  only  one  before  it  was 
the  Boston  News-Letter.     I  remember  his  being  dissuaded  by27o 
some  of  his  friends  from  the  undertaking,  as  not  likely  to  suc- 
ceed, one  newspaper  being,  in  their  judgment,  enough  for  Amer- 
ica.    At  this  time  there  are  not  less  than  five-and-twenty.     He 
went  on,  however,  with  the  undertaking,  and  after  having  worked 
in  composing  the  types  and  printing  off  the  sheets,  I  was  em-27S 
ployed  to  carry  the  papers  through  the  streets  to  the  customers. 

13.  He   had   some    ingenious    men   among   his   friends,  who 
amused  themselves  by  writing  little  pieces  for  this  paper,  which 
gained  it  credit  and  made  it  more  in  demand,  and  these  gentle- 
men often  visited  us.     Hearing  their  conversations,  and  their  ac-  280 
counts  of  the  approbation  their  papers  were  received  with,  I  was 
excited  to  try  my  hand  among  them ;  but,  being  still  a  boy,  and 
suspecting  that  my  brother  would  object  to  printing  anything  of 
mine  in  his  paper  if  he  knew  it  to  be  mine,  I  contrived  to  dis- 
guise my  hand,  and,  writing  an  anonymous  *  paper,  I  put  it  in  at  285 
night  under  the  door  of  the  printing-house.     It  was  found  in  the 
morning,  and   communicated  to  his  writing  friends  when  they 


273.  At  this  time  .   .  .  flve-and-twenty. 

Franklin  was  writing  in  1785. 


At  this  time  probably  as  many 
thousands. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 264,  265.  What  do  you  think  of  Franklin's  improve- 
ment on  Pope  ? 

266.  Point  out  the  characteristic  manner  in  which  Franklin,  in  this  iine,  ex- 
emplifies the  precept  as  to  "  modest  diffidence,"  laid  down  by  him  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  paragraph. 

277-280.  He  had ...  us.  Rewrite  this  sentence  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring 
the  relative  pronouns  "  who  "  and  "  which  "  nearer  their  antecedents. 

285.  anonymous.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word. 

12 


i78 


FRANKLIN. 


called  in  as  usual.  They  read  it,  commented  on  it  in  my  hear- 
ing, and  I  had  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  finding  it  met  with  their 
approbation,  and  that,  in  their  different  guesses  at  the  author,  290 
none  were  named  but  men  of  some  character  among  us  for  learn- 
ing and  ingenuity.  I  suppose  now  that  I  was  rather  lucky  in  my 
judges,  and  that  perhaps  they  were  not  really  so  very  good  ones 
as  I  then  esteemed  them.  .  .  . 

,  14.  I  have  been  the  more  particular  in  this  description  of  my  295 
journey,  and  shall  be  so  of  my  first  entry  into  that  city,  that  you 
may  in  your  mind  compare  such  unlikely  beginnings  with   the 
figure  I  have  since  made  there.     I  was  in  my  working  dress,  my 
best  clothes  being  to  come  round  by  sea.     I  was  dirty  from  my 
journey  ;  my  pockets  were  stuffed  out  with  shirts  and  stockings,  3°° 
and  I  knew  no  soul,  nor  where  to  look  for  lodging.     I  was  fa- 
tigued with  travelling,  rowing,  and  want  of  rest ;  I  was  very  hun- 
gry, and  my  whole  stock  of  cash  consisted  of  a  Dutch  dollar,  and 
about  a  shilling  in  copper.     The  latter  I  gave  the  people  of  the 
boat  for  my  passage,  who  at  first  refused  it  on  account  of  my  row-  305 
ing ;  but  I  insisted  on  their  taking  it.     A  man  being  sometimes 
more  generous  when  he  has  but  a  little  money  than  when  he  has 
plenty,  perhaps  through  fear  of  being  thought  to  have  but  little. 
15.  Then  I  walked  up  the  street,  gazing  about,  till,  near  the 
market-house,  I  met  a  boy  with  bread.     I  had  made  many  a  meal  310 
on  bread,  and,  inquiring  where  he  got  it,  I  went  immediately  to 
the  baker's  he  directed  me  to,  in  Second  Street,  and  asked  for 
biscuit,  intending  such  as  we  had  in  Boston  ;  but  they,  it  seems, 
were  not  made  in  Philadelphia.     Then  I  asked  for  a  threepenny 
loaf,  and  was  told  they  had  none  such.     So,  not  considering  or  315 
knowing  the  difference  of  money,  and  the  greater  cheapness  nor 
the  names  of  his  bread,  I  bade  him  give  me  threepenny-worth 
of  any  sort.     He  gave  me,  accordingly,  three  great  puffy  rolls. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  quantity,  but  took  it,  and,  having  no  room 


295,  296.  my  journey.     His  journey  to 
Philadelphia,  whither  he  went 


at  the  age  of  seventeen,  having 
quarrelled  with  his  brother. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 292-294.  I  suppose  .  .  .  them.      Analyze  this  sen- 
tence. 
295-298.  I  have  been  .  .  .  there.     What  kind  of  sentence  is  this  rhetorically  ? 


FROM  FRANKLIN'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  I79 

in  my  pockets,  walked  off  with  a  roll  under  each  arm,  and  eat-  320 
ing  the  other.     Thus  I  went  up  Market  Street  as  far  as  Fourth 
Street,  passing  by  the  door  of  Mr.  Read,  my  future  wife's  father  ; 
when  she,  standing  at  the  door,  saw  me,  and  thought  I  made,  as 
I  certainly  did,  a  most  awkward,  ridiculous  appearance.     Then 
I  turned  and  went  down  Chestnut  Street,  and  part  of  Walnut  335 
Street,  eating  my  roll  all  the  way,  and,  coming  round,  found  my- 
self again  at  Market  Street  Wharf,  near  the  boat  I  came  in,  to 
which  I  went  for  a  draught  of  the  river  water ;  and,  being  filled 
with  one  of  my  rolls,  gave  the  other  two  to  a  woman  and  her 
child  that  came  down  the  river  in  the  boat  with  us,  and  were  330 
waiting  to  go  farther. 

1 6.  Thus  refreshed,  I  walked  again  up  the  street,  which  by  this 
time  had  many  clean-dressed  people  in  it,  who  were  all  walking 
the  same  way.  I  joined  them,  and  thereby  was  led  into  the  great 
meeting-house  of  the  Quakers,  near  the  market.  I  sat  down  335 
among  them,  and,  after  looking  round  awhile  and  hearing  noth- 
ing said,  being  very  drowsy  through  labor  and  want  of  rest  the 
preceding  night,  I  fell  fast  asleep,  and  continued  so  till  the  meet- 
ing broke  up,  when  one  was  kind  enough  to  rouse  me.  This  was, 
therefore,  the  first  house  I  was  in,  or  slept  in,  in  Philadelphia.  340 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 295-340.  Write  in  your  words  an  account  of  Frank- 
lin's first  entry  into  Philadelphia. 


XI. 

SAMUEL   JOHNSON. 

1709-1784. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  MACAULAY. 

i.  [Through  BoswelPs  Life^\  Johnson  grown  old,  Johnson  in  the 
fulness  of  his  fame  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  competent  fortune, 
is  better  known  to  us  than  any  other  man  in  history.  Everything 
about  him,  his  coat,  his  wig,  his  figure,  his  face,  his  scrofula,  his 


MA  CA  ULAY'S  CHAR  A  C  TERIZA  TION  OF  JOHNSON,     i  g  t 

St.  Vitus's  dance,  his  rolling  walk,  his  blinking  eye,  the  outward 
signs  which  too  clearly  marked  his  approbation  of  his  dinner,  his 
insatiable  appetite  for  fish-sauce  and  veal-pie  with  plums,  his  in- 
extinguishable thirst  for  tea,  his  trick  of  touching  the  posts  as  he 
walked,  his  mysterious  practice  of  treasuring  up  scraps  of  orange 
peel,  his  morning  slumbers,  his  midnight  disputations,  his  contor 
tions,  his  mutterings,  his  gruntings,  his  puffings,  his  vigorous,  acute, 
and  ready  eloquence,  his  sarcastic  wit,  his  vehemence,  his  inso- 
lence, his  fits  of  tempestuous  rage,  his  queer  inmates,  old  Mr. 
Levett  and  blind  Mrs.  Williams,  the  cat  Hodge  and  the  negro 
Frank — all  are  familiar  to  us  as  the  objects  by  which  we  have 
been  surrounded  from  childhood. 

2.  Johnson,  as  Mr.  Burke  most  justly  observed,  appears  far 
greater  in  BoswelPs  books  than  in  his  own.     His  conversation 
appears  to  have  been  quite  equal  to  his  writings  in  matter,  and 
far  superior  to  them  in  manner.     When  he  talked,  he  clothed 
his  wit  and  his  sense  in  forcible  and  natural  expressions.     As 
soon  as  he  took  his  pen  in  his  hand  to  write  for  the  public,  his 
style  became  systematically  vicious.     All  his  books  are  written 
in  a  learned  language  ;  in  a  language  which  nobody  hears  from 
his  mother  or  his  nurse  ;  in  a  language  in  which  nobody  ever 
quarrels,  or  drives  bargains,  or  makes  love  ;  in  a  language  in 
which  nobody  ever  thinks. 

3.  It  is  clear  that  Johnson  himself  did  not  think  in  the  dialect 
in  which  he  wrote.     The  expressions  which  came  first  to  his 
tongue  were  simple,  energetic,  and  picturesque.     When  he  wrote 
for  publication,  he  did  his  sentences  out  of  English  into  John- 
sonese.    His  letters  from  the  Hebrides  to  Mrs.  Thrale  are  the 
original  of  that  work  of  which  the  journey  to  the  Hebrides  is 
the  translation ;  and  it  is  amusing  to  compare  the  two  versions. 
"When  we  were  taken  upstairs,"  says  he,  in  one  of  his  letters, 
"  a  dirty  fellow  bounced  out  of  the  bed  on  which  one  of  us  was 
to  lie."    This  incident  is  recorded  in  the  Journey  as  follows  . 
"  Out  of  one  of  the  beds  on  which  we  were  to  repose,  started  up, 
at  our  entrance,  a  man  black  as  a  Cyclops  from  the  forge." 
Sometimes    Johnson    translated    aloud.      "  The  Rehearsal,"  he 
said,  very  unjustly,  "  has  not  wit  enough  to  keep  it  sweet ;"  then, 
after  a  pause,  "  it  has  not  vitality  enough  to  preserve  it  from 
putrefaction." 


182  JOHNSON. 

4.  Mannerism  is  pardonable,  and  is  sometimes  even  agreeable, 
when  the  manner,  though  vicious,  is  natural.     Few  readers,  foi 
example,  would  be  willing  to  part  with  the  mannerism  of  Milton 
or  of  Burke.     But  a  mannerism  which  does  not  sit  easy  on  the 
mannerist,  which  has   been    adopted   on  principle,   and  which 
can  be  sustained  only  by  constant  effort,  is  always   offensive. 
And  such  is  the  mannerism  of  Johnson. 

5.  The  characteristic  faults  of  his  style  are  so  familiar  to  all 
our  readers,  and  have  been  so  often  burlesqued,  that  it  is  almost 
superfluous  to  point  them  out.     It  is  well  known  that  he  made 
less  use  than  any  other  eminent  writer  of  those  strong  plain 
words,  Anglo-Saxon  or  Norman-French,  of  which  the  roots  lie  in 
the  inmost  depths  of  our  language  ;  and  that  he  felt  a  vicious 
partiality  for  terms  which,  long  after  our  own  speech  had  been 
fixed,  were  borrowed  from  the  Greek  and  Latin,  and  which  there- 
fore, even  when  lawfully  naturalized,  must  be  considered  as  born 
aliens,  not  entitled  to  rank  with  the  king's  English.     His  con- 
stant practice  of  padding  out  a  sentence  with  useless  epithets, 
till  it  became  as  stiff  as  the  bust  of  an  exquisite ;  his  antithetical 
forms  of  expression,  constantly  employed  even  where  there  is  no 
opposition  in  the  ideas  expressed ;  his  big  words  wasted  on  lit- 
tle things  ;  his  harsh  inversions,  so  widely  different  from  those 
graceful  and  easy  inversions  which  give  variety,  spirit,  and  sweet- 
ness to  the  expression  of  our  great  old  writers — all  these  pecu- 
liarities have  been  imitated  by  his  admirers  and  parodied  by  his 
assailants,  till  the  public  has  become  sick  of  the  subject. 

6.  Goldsmith  .said  to  him,  very  wittily  and  very  justly,  "  If  you 
were  to  write  a  fable  about  little  fishes,  doctor,  you  would  make 
the  little  fishes  talk  like  whales."     No  man  surely  ever  had  so 
little  talent  for  personation  as  Johnson.     Whether  he  wrote  in 
the  character  of  a  disappointed  legacy-hunter  or  an  empty  town 
fop,  of  a  crazy  virtuoso  or  a  flippant  coquette,  he  wrote  in  the 
same  pompous  and  unbending  style.    His  speech,  like  Sir  Piercy 
Shafton's  euphuistic  eloquence,  bewrayed  him  under  every  dis- 
guise.    Euphelia   and   Rhodoclea  talk  as  finely  as  Imlac  the 
poet,  or  Seged,  Emperor   of  Ethiopia.     The  gay  Cornelia   de- 
scribes her  reception  at  the  country-house  of  her  relations  in 
such  terms  as  these  :  "  I  was  surprised,  after  the  civilities  of  my 
first  reception,  to  find,  instead  of  the  leisure  and  tranquillity 


MA CA ULA  Y'S  CHARACTERIZA TION  OF  JOHNSON.     x g^ 

which  a  rural  life  always  promises,  and,  if  well  conducted,  might 
always  afford,  a  confused  wildness  of  care,  and  a  tumultuous 
hurry  of  diligence,  by  which  every  face  was  clouded,  and  every 
motion  agitated."  The  gentle  Tranquilla  informs  us  that  she 
"  had  not  passed  the  earlier  part  of  life  without  the  flattery  of 
courtship  and  the  joys  of  triumph  ;  but  had  danced  the  round 
of  gayety  amidst  the  murmurs  of  envy  and  the  gratulations  of 
applause,  had  been  attended  from  pleasure  to  pleasure  by  the 
great,  the  sprightly,  and  the  vain,  and  had  seen  her  regard  solic- 
ited by  the  obsequiousness  of  gallantry,  the  gayety  of  wit,  and 
the  timidity  of  love."  Surely  Sir  John  Falstaff  himself  did  not 
wear  his  petticoats  with  a  worse  grace.  The  reader  may  well 
cry  out,  with  honest  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  "  I  like  not  when  a  'oman 
has  a  great  peard  :  I  spy  a  great  peard  under  her  muffler." 

7.  As  we  close  BoswelPs  book,  the  club-room  is  before  us,  and 
the  table  on  which  stands  the  omelet  for  Nugent,  and  the  lemons 
for  Johnson.     There  are  assembled  those  heads  which  live  for- 
ever on  the  canvas  of  Reynolds.     There  are  the  spectacles  of 
Burke,  and  the  tall,  thin  form  of  Langton ;  the  courtly  sneer  of 
Beauclerk,  and  the  beaming  smile  of  Garrick ;  Gibbon  tapping 
his  snuffbox,  and  Sir  Joshua  with  his  trumpet  in  his  ear.     In  the 
foreground  is  that  strange  figure  which  is  as  familiar  to  us  as  the 
figures  of  those  among  whom  we  have  been  brought  up — the  gi- 
gantic body,  the  huge  massy  face  seamed  with  the  scars  of  dis- 
ease, the  brown  coat,  the  black  worsted  stockings,  the  gray  wig 
with  the  scorched  foretop,  the  dirty  hands,  the  nails  bitten  and 
pared  to  the  quick.     We  see  the  eyes  and  mouth  moving  with 
convulsive  twitches  ;  we  see  the  heavy  form  rolling ;  we  hear  it 
puffing  ;  and  then  comes  the  "Why,  sir  ?"  and  the  "  What  then, 
sir  ?"  and  the  "  No,  sir  !"   and  the  "  You  don't  see  your  way 
through  the  question,  sir !" 

8.  What  a  singular  destiny  has  been  that  of  this  remarkable 
man !     To  be  regarded  in  his  own  age  as  a  classic,  and  in  ours 
as  a  companion !     To  receive  from  his  contemporaries  that  full 
homage  which  men  of  genius  have  in  general  received  only  from 
posterity  !     To  be  more  intimately  known  to  posterity  than  oth- 
er men  are  known  to  their  contemporaries  !     That  kind  of  fame 
which  is  commonly  the  most  transient  is,  in  his  case,  the  most 
durable.     The  reputation  of  those  writings  which  he 'probably 


184 


JOHNSON. 


expected  to  be  immortal  is  every  day  fading ;  while  those  pecu- 
liarities of  manner  and  that  careless  table-talk,  the  memory  of 
which,  he  probably  thought,  would  die  with  him,  are  likely  to  be 
remembered  as  long  as  the  English  language  is  spoken  in  any 
quarter  of  the  globe. 


I.—COWLEY   AND   HIS   CONTEMPORARIES. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extract  is  from  Johnson's  Lives  of  the 
Poets,  from  which  already  two  selections  have  been  made — the  Characteriza- 
tion of  Shakespeare,  page  i,  and  the  Parallel  between  Pope  and  Dry  den,  page 
147.  "Much  of  Johnson's  criticism,"  says  Leslie  Stephen,  "is  pretty  nearly 
obsolete  ;  but  the  child  of  his  old  age — the  Lives  of  the  Poets — a  book  in  which 
criticism  and  biography  are  combined,  is  an  admirable  performance  in  spite 
of  serious  defect^.  It  is  the  work  that  best  reflects  his  mind,  and  intelligent 
readers  who  have  once  made  its  acquaintance  will  be  apt  to  turn  it  into  a  fa- 
miliar companion."] 

1.  Cowley,  like  other  poets  who  have  written  with  narrow 
views,  and,  instead  of  tracing  intellectual  pleasures  in  the  mind 
of  man,  paid  their  court  to  temporary  prejudices,  has  been  at  one 
time  too  much  praised,  and  too  much  neglected  at  another. 

2.  Wit,  like  all  other  things  subject  by  their  nature  to  the  5 
choice  of  man,  has  its  changes  and  fashions,  and  at  different 
times  takes  different  forms.     About  the  beginning  of  the  seven- 


NOTES.  —  Line  i.  Cowley.  Abraham 
Cowley  (1618-1667)  was  the 
most  popular  poet  of  his  time  ; 
however,  he  soon  fell  out  of  fa- 
vor (see  line  4  above),  as  is 
shown  by  Pope's  lines — 

"  Who  now  read*  Cowley  \    If  be  pleases  yet, 
His  moral  pleases,  not  his  pointed  wit ; 
Forgot  hit  epic,  nay,  Pindaric  art  ; 
But  still  1  love  the  language  of  hia  heart." 


The  "epic"  and  "Pindaric" 
art  is  in  allusion  to  Cowley's 
two  representative  works  —  the 
Davideis,  an  epic  poem  on  the 
life  and  troubles  of  David  ;  and 
Pindaric  Odes,  a  collection  re- 
plete with  beauties  and  with 
blemishes. 
5.  Wit,  literary  invention. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1-4.  Cowley . . .  another.  To  what  class,  rhetorically, 
does  the  first  sentence  belong  ?— Point  out  two  examples  of  antithesis  in  this 
sentence. 

5-10.  Wit . .  .  account.  In  paragraph  2  which  sentence  is  complex,  and 
which  compound  ? 


COWLEY  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES. 


teenth  century  appeared  a  race  of  writers  that  may  be  termed  the 
metaphysical  poets,  of  whom,  in  a  criticism  on  the  works  of  Cow- 
ley,  it  is  not  improper  to  give  some  account.  ia 

3.  The  metaphysical  poets  were  men  of  learning,  and  to  show 
their  learning  was  their  whole  endeavor  ;  but,  unluckily  resolv- 
ing to  show  it  in  rhyme,  instead  of  writing  poetry*  they  only 
wrote  verses  ;  *  and  very  often  such  verses  as  stood  the  trial  of 
the  finger  better  than  of  the  ear  ;  for  the  modulation  was  so  im-  iS 
perfect  that  they  were  only  found  to  be  verses  by  counting  the 
syllables. 

4.  If  the  father  of  criticism  has  rightly  denominated  poetry 
an  imitative  art,  these  writers  will,  without  great  wrong,  lose  their 
right  to  the  name  of  poets,  for  they  cannot  be  said  to  have  im-  2« 
itated  anything  :   they  neither  copied  nature  from  life,  neither 
painted  the  forms  of  matter,  »nor  represented  the  operations  of 
intellect. 

5.  Those,  however,  who  deny  them  to  be  poets,  allow  them  to 


8,  9.  the  metaphysical  poets.  Besides 
Cowley,  the  two  principal  poets 
whom  Johnson  includes  in  this 
designation  are  Donne  (1573- 
1631),  the  first  and  best  of  the 
school,  and  Crashaw  (died  about 
1650),  whose  "  r^ower  and  opu- 
lence of  invention  "  are  praised 
by  Coleridge.  The  fitness  of 
the  term  "  metaphysical  "  as  de- 
scriptive of  these  poets  has  been 


questioned,  and  perhaps  the 
name,  ihefanfastic  school  (equiv- 
alent to  the  Italian  school  of 
the  concetti}^  would  be  more  ap- 
propriate. 

1 8.  the  father  of  criticism:  that  is,  Aris- 
totle (B.C.  384-322),  the  famous 
Greek  philosopher,  who,  in  his 
Rhetoric  and  his  Poetics,  first 
laid  down  the  canons  of  litera- 
ry criticism. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 11-17.  The  metaphysical . . .  syllables.  Point  out  an 
example  of  antithesis  in  this  sentence. 

13,  14.  poetry  .  .  .  verses.     What  is  the  distinction  between  "  poetry "  and 
"verses  ?"     (See  Defs.  4, 10.) — Give  the  derivation  of  each  of  these  words. 

14,  15.  stood  the  trial  of  the  finger,  etc.     Explain  this  expression. 

1 6.  only.  Improve  the  position  of  this  word  by  placing  it  nearer  the  adver- 
bial phrase  which  it  modifies. 

20,  21.  they  cannot  be  said  to  have  imitated  anything.  What  three  particular 
statements  are  used  to  amplify  and  illustrate  this  general  statement? — Note 
the  felicitous  use  of  three  verbs  nearly  synonymous  with  "represented." 

24-27.  Those  . . .  poetry.  In  this  paragraph  point  out  two  pairs  of  verbs 
contrasted  in  meaning. 


i86 


JOHNSON. 


be  wits.     Dryden  confesses  of  himself  and  his  contemporaries  25 
that  they  fall  below  Donne  in  wit,  but  maintains  that  they  sur- 
pass him  in  poetry. 

6.  If  wit  be  well  described  by  Pope  as  being  "  that  which  has 
been  often  thought,  but  was  never  before  so  well  expressed," 
they  certainly  never  attained,  nor  ever  sought  it ;  for  they  en-  30 
deavored  to  be  singular  in  their  thoughts,  and  were  careless  of 
their  diction.     But  Pope's  account  of  wit  is  undoubtedly  erro- 
neous ;  he  depresses  it  below  its  natural  dignity,  and  reduces  it 
from  strength  of  thought  to  happiness  of  language. 

7.  If  by  a  more  noble  and  more  adequate  conception  that  be  35 
considered  as  wit  which  is  at  once  natural  and  new,  that  which, 
though  not  obvious,  is,  upon  its  first  production,  acknowledged 
to  be  just ;  if  it  be  that  which  he  that  never  found  it  wonders 
how  he  missed,  to  wit  of  this  kind  the  metaphysical  poets  have 
seldom  risen.    Their  thoughts  are  often  new,  but  seldom  natural ;  4° 
they  are  not  obvious,  but  neither  are  they  just ;  and  the  reader, 
far  from  wondering  that  he  missed  them,  wonders  more  frequently 
by  what  perverseness  of  industry  they  were  ever  found. 

8.  But  wit,  abstracted  from  its  effects  upon  the  hearer,  may  be 
more  vigorously  and  philosophically  considered  as  a  kind  of  dis-  45 
cordia  concors — a  combination  of  dissimilar  images,  or  discovery 
of  occult  resemblances  in  things  apparently  unlike.    Of  wit,  thus 


28,  29.  Pope  . .  .  expressed.  The  exact 
words  of  Pope  are  in  the  follow- 
ing couplet  from  his  Essay  *n 
Criticism  : 


"  True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dressed, 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed." 

45,  46.  discordia  concors,  literally  a  har- 
monious discord,  or  variance. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 28-32.  If  wit ...  diction.  What  kind  of  sentence  is 
this,  grammatically  and  rhetorically  ? 

34.  happiness  of  language.     Give  an  equivalent  expression. 

35-40.  If . . .  risen.  What  kind  of  sentence  is  this  grammatically  and  rhe- 
torically. 

40-43.  Their  thoughts .  .  .  found.  In  this  balanced  sentence  point  out  the 
corresponding  or  contrasting  parts. 


COWLEY  AND  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES. 


187 


defined,  they  have  more  than  enough.  The  most  heterogeneous 
ideas  are  yoked  by  violence  together ;  nature  and  art  are  ran- 
sacked for  illustrations,  comparisons,  and  allusions  ;  their  learn-  50 
ing  instructs,  and  their  subtlety  surprises ;  but  the  reader  com- 
monly thinks  his  improvement  dearly  bought,  and,  though  he 
sometimes  admires,  is  seldom  pleased. 

9.  From  this  account  of  their  compositions,  it  will  be  readily 
inferred  that  they  were  not  successful  in  representing  or  moving  s? 
the  affections.  As  they  were  wholly  employed  in  something  un- 
expected and  surprising,  they  had  no  regard  to  that  uniformity 
of  sentiment  which  enables  us  to  conceive  and  to  excite  the 
pains  and  the  pleasure  of  other  minds.  They  never  inquired 
what,  on  any  occasion,  they  should  have  said  or  done,  but  wrote  60 
rather  as  beholders  than  partakers  of  human  nature ;  as  beings 
looking  upon  good  and  evil,  impassive  and  at  leisure ;  as  Epi- 
curean deities,  making  remarks  on  the  actions  of  men  and  the 
vicissitudes  of  life,  without  interest  and  without  emotion.  Their 
courtship  was  void  of  fondness,  and  their  lamentation  of  sorrow.  69 


62,  63.  Epicurean  deities.  According 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  Greek 
philosopher  Epicu'rus  (B.C. 
342-270),  the  "  gods  live  in  eter- 


nal bliss,  that  is  to  say,  in  abso- 
lute inactivity,  in  the  quiet  en- 
joyment of  sublime  wisdom  and 
virtue." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  48,  49.  The  most  heterogeneous  ideas,  etc.  A  single 
illustration  may  serve  to  show  the  justice  of  Johnson's  criticism  on  the  strained 
conceits  of  the  metaphysical  poets.  Donne  has  to  describe  a  broken  heart : 
he  enters  a  room  where  his  sweetheart  is  present — 

"Love  alas! 
At  one  first  blow  did  shiver  it  [the  heart]  as  glass." 

This  image  he  then  proceeds  to  amplify  thus  : 

"Yet  nothing  can  to  nothing  fall, 
Nor  any  place  be  empty  quite ; 
Therefore  I  think  my  breast  hath  all 
Those  pieces  still,  though  they  do  not  unite. 
And  now,  as  broken  glasses  show 
A  hundred  faces,  so 

My  rags  of  heart  can  like,  wish,  and  adore, 
But  after  one  such  love,  can  love  no  more." 

57-59.  that  uniformity  of  sentiment,  etc.     Compare  this  periphrastic  elabora- 
tion with  the  powerful  simplicity  of  Shakespeare's  thought — 
"One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin." 


1 88  JOHNSON. 

Their  wish  was  only  to  say  what  they  hoped  had  been  never  said 
before. 

10.  Nor  was  the  sublime  more  within  their  reach  than  the 
pathetic ;  for  they  never  attempted  that  comprehension  and  ex- 
panse of  thought  which  at  once  fills  the  whole  mind,  and  of  which  ?c 
the  first  effect  is  sudden  astonishment,  and  the  second  rational 
admiration.     Sublimity*  is  produced  by  aggregation,  and  little- 
ness by  dispersion.    Great  thoughts  are  always  general,  and  con- 
sist in  positions  not  limited  by  exceptions,  and  in  descriptions 
not  descending  to  minuteness.     It  is  with  great  propriety  that  75 
subtlety,*  which  in  its  original  import  means  exility  *  of  particles, 
is  taken  in  its  metaphorical  meaning  for  nicety  of  distinction. 
Those  writers  who  lay  on  the  watch  for  novelty  could  have  little 
hope  of  greatness  ;  for  great  things  cannot  have  escaped  former 
observation.     Their  attempts  were  always  analytic  ;  they  broke  80 
every  image  into  fragments ;  and  could  no  more  represent,  by 
their  slender  conceits  *  and  labored  particularities,  the  prospects 
of  nature  or  the  scenes  of  life  than  he  who  dissects  a  sunbeam 
with  a  prism  can  exhibit  the  wide  effulgence  of  a  summer  noon. 

11.  What  they  wanted,  however,  of  the  sublime,  they  endeav-8s 
ored  to  supply  by  hyperbole  :  their  amplification  had  no  limits  ; 
they  left  not  only  reason,  but  fancy,  behind  them  ;  and  produced 
combinations  of  confused  magnificence  that  not  only  could  not 
be  credited,  but  could  not  be  imagined. 


76.  exility,  thinness,  fineness.  I  86.  hyperbole.     See  Def.  84. 

82.  conceits,  fancies.  |  87.  fancy,  imagination. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 68-84.  Nor  was  . . .  noon.  How  many  sentences  in 
this  paragraph?  State  the  class  of  each  sentence  grammatically  and  rhetori- 
cally. Select  one  which  is  an  example  of  a  short  balanced  (antithetical)  com- 
pound sentence. — The  attention  of  the  pupil  is  called  to  this  finely  expressed 
paragraph.  Notice  the  variety  of  sentences — variety  as  to  type  (complex  or 
compound,  loose  sentence  or  period)  and  as  to  length — and  observe  how  the 
passage  is  rounded  with  a  sentence  noble  in  its  elocution  and  splendid  in  its 
imagery. 

85-89.  What . . .  imagined.  Rewrite  the  sentence,  substituting  equivalents 
for  the  italicized  words  :  "  What  they  wanted,  however,  of  the  sublime,  they  en- 
deavored to  supply  by  hyperbole :  their  amplification  had  no  limits ;  they  left 
not  only  reason,  but  fancy,  behind  them  ;  and  produced  combinations  of  confused 
magnificence  that  not  only  could  not  be  credited,  but  could  not  be  imagined." 


COWLEY  AND  If  IS  CONTEMPORARIES. 


189 


12.  Yet  great  labor,  directed  by  great  abilities,  is  never  wholly  90 
lost :  if  they  frequently  threw  away  their  wit  upon  false  conceits, 
they  likewise  sometimes  struck  out  unexpected  truth;  if  their 
conceits  were  far-fetched,  they  were  often  worth  the  carriage. 
To  write  on  their  plan,  it  was  at  least  necessary  to  read  and 
think.     No  man  coufd  be  born  a  metaphysical  poet,  nor  assume  Q 
the  dignity  of  a  writer,  by  descriptions  copied  from  descriptions, 
by  imitations  borrowed  from  imitations,  by  traditional  imagery 
and  hereditary  similes,  by  readiness  of  rhyme  and  volubility*  of 
syllables. 

13.  In  perusing  the  works  of  this  race  of  authors,*  the  mind  ioc 
is  exercised  either  by  recollection  or  inquiry ;  either  something 
already  learned  is  to  be  retrieved,  or  something  new  is  to  be  ex- 
amined.   If  their  greatness  seldom  elevates,  their  acuteness  often 
surprises ;  if  the  imagination  is  not  always  gratified,  at  least  the 
powers  of  reflection  and  comparison  are  employed ;  and  in  the  105 
mass  of  materials  which  ingenious  absurdity*  has  thrown  to- 
gether, genuine  wit   and  useful  knowledge  may  be  sometimes 
found  buried  perhaps  in  grossness  of  expression,  but  useful  to 
those  who  know  their  value  ;  and  such  as,  when  they  are  expand- 
ed to  perspicuity*  and  polished  to  elegance,  may  give  lustre  tone 
works  which  have  more  propriety  though  less  copiousness  of  sen- 
timent. 


93.  worth  the  carriage :  that  is,  worth 
the  bringing  from  afar,  whence 
they  were  "  fetched." 

98.  hereditary   similes  :   that  is,  similes 


that  have  come  down  from  gen- 
eration to  generation,  and  to 
which  every  successive  poet  is 
heir. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 95.  born  a  metaphysical  poet.  Contrast  this  with 
Horace's  dictum,  "  The  poet  is  born,  not  made  "  (Poeta  nascitur,  nonfif).  What 
conclusion  may  be  drawn  as  to  metaphysical  poets  being  poets  at  all  ? 

100-110.  Give  the  derivation  of  the  following  words:  "author"  (100);  "ab- 
surdity" (106) ;  "perspicuity"  (no). 


190  JOHNSON. 


II.  — DR.  JOHNSON'S   LETTER   TO   THE   EARL   OF  CHESTER- 

FIELD. 

[INTRODUCTION. — In  explanation  of  Dr.  Johnson's  Letter  to  Lord  Chester- 
field, the  following  circumstances  may  be  stated.  In  1747  Johnson  had  put 
forth  a  prospectus  for  an  English  Dictionary,  addressed,  at  the  suggestion  of 
the  publisher  Dodsley,  to  Lord  Chesterfield,  "  then  Secretary  of  State,  and  the 
great  contemporary  Maecenas."  Johnson's  language  implies  that  his  lordship 
and  himself  had  been,  to  some  extent,  in  personal  communication  concerning 
the  project,  but  that  Johnson  was  rebuffed.  In  the  meantime,  the  work  on  the 
Dictionary  had  gone  on  for  seven  years,  and  in  1755  it  was  published.  Just 
before  publication  Lord  Chesterfield  took  occasion  to  write  two  articles  in  the 
London  World,  in  which,  with  various  courtly  compliments,  he  described  Dr. 
Johnson's  fitness  for  the  task  of  preparing  a  Dictionary — the  object  being  to 
secure  the  dedication  of  the  work  to  himself.  Johnson  readily  saw  through 
the  manoeuvre,  and  bestowed  upon  the  noble  earl  a  piece  of  his  mind  in  the 
celebrated  letter  which  was,  as  Carlyle  calls  it,  "  the  far-famed  blast  of  doom 
proclaiming  into  the  ear  of  Lord  Chesterfield,  and,  through  him,  of  the  listen- 
ing world,  that  patronage  should  be  no  more."] 

MY  LORD, — I  have  lately  been  informed  by  the  proprietor  of 
The  World  that  two  papers  in  which  my  Dictionary  is  recom- 
mended to  the  public  were  written  by  your  lordship.  To  be  so 
distinguished  is  an  honor  which,  being  very  little  accustomed  to 
favors  from  the  great,  I  know  not  well  how  to  receive,  or  in  what  s 
terms  to  acknowledge. 

When,  upon  some  slight  encouragement,  I  first  visited  your 
lordship,  I  was  overpowered,  like  the  rest  of  mankind,  by  the  en- 
chantment of  your  address,  and  could  not  forbear  to  wish  that  I 
might  boast  myself  k  vainqueur  du  vainqueur  de  la  terre1  —  that  10 
I  might  obtain  that  regard  for  which  I  saw  the  world  contend- 
ing ;  but  I  found  my  attendance  so  little  encouraged  that  neither 
pride  nor  modesty  would  suffer  me  to  continue  it.  When  once  I 
had  addressed  your  lordship  in  public,  I  had  exhausted  all  the 
art  of  pleasing  which  a  retired  and  uncourtly  scholar  can  possess.  15 
I  had  done  all  that  I  could  ;  and  no  man  is  well  pleased  to  have 
his  all  neglected,  be  it  ever  so  little. 

Seven  years,  my  lord,  have  now  passed  since  I  waited  in  your 
outward  rooms,  or  was  repulsed  from  your  door ;  during  which 
time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  work  through  difficulties,  of  2o 

1  The  conqueror  of  the  conqueror  of  the  world. 


VANITY  OF  MILITARY  AMBITION. 


191 


which  it  is  useless  to  complain,  and  have  brought  it,  at  last,  to  the 
verge  of  publication,  without  one  act  of  assistance,  one  word  of 
encouragement,  or  one  smile  of  favor.  Such  treatment  I  did  not 
expect,  for  I  never  had  a  patron  before. 

The  shepherd  in  Virgil  grew  at  last  acquainted  with  Love,  and  25 
found  him  a  native  of" the  rocks. 

Is  not  a  patron,  my  lord,  one  who  looks  with  unconcern  on  a 
man  struggling  for  life  in  the  water,  and,  when  he  has  reached 
the  ground,  encumbers  him  with  help  ?  The  notice  which  you 
have  been  pleased  to  take  of  my  labors,  had  it  been  early,  had  30 
been  kind ;  but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am  indifferent,  and 
cannot  enjoy  it ;  till  I  am  solitary,1  and  cannot  impart  it ;  till  I 
am  known,  and  do  not  want  it.  I  hope  it  is  no  very  cynical  as- 
perity, not  to  confess  obligations  when  no  benefit  has  been  re- 
ceived, or  to  be  unwilling  that  the  public  should  consider  me  as  35 
owing  that  to  a  patron  which  Providence  has  enabled  me  to  do 
for  myself. 

Having  carried  on  my  work  thus  far  with  so  little  obligation 
to  any  favorer  of  learning,  I  shall  not  be  disappointed  though  I 
should  conclude  it,  if  less  be  possible,  with  less  ;  for  I  have  long  * 
been  wakened  from  that  dream  of  hope  in  which  I  once  boasted 
myself  with  so  much  exultation,  my  lord, 

Your  lordship's  most  humble,  most  obedient  servant, 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 


III.— VANITY   OF  MILITARY  AMBITION.9 

On  what  foundation  stands  the  warrior's  pride, 
How  just  his  hopes,  let  Swedish  Charles  decide : 


NOTES. — 2.  Swedish  Charles.  Charles 
XII.  of  Sweden  (born  1682, 
killed  at  the  siege  of  Frede- 
rickshall,  Norway,  1718)  suc- 
ceeded to  the  throne  in  1697,  at 


the  age  of  fifteen.  There  is  a 
well-known  popular  history  of 
Charles  XII.  from  the  pen  of 
the  celebrated  French  writer 
Voltaire. 


3  Dr.  Johnson's  wife,  to  whom  he  was  passionately  devoted,  had  died  two 
years  before,  in  1752. 

2  From  Dr.  Johnson's  fine  poem  entitled  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes. 


I92 


JOHNSON. 

A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  fire, 

No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire ; 

O'er  love,  o'er  fear,  extends  his  wide  domain, 

Unconquered  lord  of  pleasure  and  of  pain ; 

No  joys  to  him  pacific  sceptres  yield — 

War  sounds  the  trump,  he  rushes  to  the  field. 

Behold  surrounding  kings  their  powers  combine, 

And  one  capitulate,  and  one  resign. 

Peace  courts  his  hand,  but  spreads  her  charms  in  vain ; 

"  Think  nothing  gained,"  he  cries,  "  till  naught  remain, 

On  Moscow's  walls  till  Gothic  standards  fly, 

And  all  be  mine  beneath  the  polar  sky." 

The  march  begins  in  military  state, 

And  nations  on  his  eye  suspended  wait ; 

Stern  Famine  guards  the  solitary  coast, 

And  Winter  barricades  the  realms  of  Frost. 

He  comes,  nor  want  nor  cold  his  course  delay; 

Hide,  blushing  Glory,  hide  Pultowa's  day  : 

The  vanquished  hero  leaves  his  broken  bands, 

And  shows  his  miseries  in  distant  lands ; 

Condemned  a  needy  suppliant  to  wait, 

While  ladies  interpose  and  slaves  debate. 


3.  A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  flre. 

Voltaire  speaks  of  "  that  body 
of  iron  (corps  defer}  controlled 
by  a  soul  so  bold  and  unshak- 
able." 

9.  surrounding  kings.  Charles  IV.  of 
Denmark,  Augustus  II.  of  Po- 
land, and  Peter  the  Great  of 
Russia. 

10.  one  capitulate:  namely,  the  King  of 
Denmark,  in  170x5. — one  resign: 
namely,  the  King  of  Poland. 

13.  On  Moscow's  walls.  It  is  recorded 
that  after  Charles  XII.  had  be- 
gun his  invasion,  the  Czar  at- 
tempted to  negotiate;  but  the 
former  replied,  "  I  will  treat 
with  the  Czar  at  Moscow." — 
Gothic :  that  is,  Swedish. 


20.  Pultowa's  day:  that  is,  the  battle 
of  Pultovva  (July  8,  1709),  where 
Charles's  advance  on  the  city 
of  Moscow  was  checked  by  the 
arrival  of  the  Czar  Peter  with 
70,000  men.  Charles  suffered  a 
signal  defeat,  and  fled  to  Ben- 
der, in  Turkey. 

23,  24.  Condemned  .  .  .  debate.  Charles 
was  hospitably  entertained  by 
the  Sultan  after  his  flight  into 
Turkey,  and  soon  began  to 
dream  of  enlisting  that  power  in 
his  designs  against  Russia.  In 
these  efforts  he  sought  by  bribes 
to  win  to  his  side  the  ladies  of 
the  seraglio  and  successive  viz- 
iers ("slaves");  but  the  Czar 
had  more  gold  than  he. 


VANITY   OF  MILITARY  AMBITION. 

But  did  not  Chance  at  length  her  error  mend  ? 
Did  no  subverted  empire  mark  his  end  ? 
Did  rival  monarchs  give  the  fatal  wound  ? 
Or  hostile  millions  press  him  to  the  ground  ? 
His  fall  was  destined  to  a  barren  strand, 
A  petty  fortress,  and  a  dubious  hand. 
He  left  the  name  at  which  the  world  grew  pale, 
To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale. 


193 


25.  Chance,  Fortune. 

29.  barren  strand,  Norway. 

30.  petty  fortress,   Frederickshall.  —  a 

dubious    hand,  in    allusion    to 


the  question  whether  the  bullet 
which  struck  him  came  from 
the  enemy  or  from  his  own 
camp. 


XII. 

THOMAS   GRAY, 

1716-1771. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  MACKINTOSH.1 

i.  Gray  was  a  poet  of  a  far  higher  order  than  Goldsmith,  and 
of  an  almost  opposite  kind  of  merit.  Of  all  English  poets,  he 
was  the  most  finished  artist.  He  attained  the  highest  kind  of 

1  From  Miscellaneous  Essays  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh. 


MACKINTOSH'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  GRAY.       195 

splendor  of  which  poetical  style  seems  capable.  If  Virgil  and 
his  scholar  Racine  may  be  allowed  to  have  united  somewhat 
more  ease  with  their  elegance,  no  other  poet  approaches  Gray 
in  this  kind  of  excellence.  The  degree  of  poetical  invention  dif- 
fused over  such  a  style,  the  balance  of  taste  and  of  fancy  neces- 
sary to  produce  it,  and  the  art  with  which  the  offensive  boldness 
of  imagery  is  polished  away  are  not,  indeed,  always  perceptible 
to  the  common  reader,  nor  do  they  convey  to  any  mind  the 
same  species  of  gratification  which  is  felt  from  the  perusal  of 
those  poems  which  seem  to  be  the  unpremeditated  effusions  of 
enthusiasm.  But  to  the  eye  of  the  critic,  and  more  especially  to 
the  artist,  they  afford  a  new  kind  of  pleasure,  not  incompatible 
with  a  distinct  perception  of  the  art  employed,  and  somewhat 
similar  to  the  grand  emotions  excited  by  the  reflection  on  the 
skill  and  toil  exerted  in  the  construction  of  a  magnificent  palace. 
They  can  only  be  classed  among  the  secondary  pleasures  of  po 
etry,  but  they  never  can  exist  without  a  great  degree  of  its  high 
er  excellencies. 

2.  Almost  all  Gray's  poetry  was  lyrical — that  species  which, 
issuing  from  the  mind  in  the  highest  state  of  excitement,  requires 
an  intensity  of  feeling  which,  for  a  long  composition,  the  genius 
of  no  poet  could  support.  Those  who  complained  of  its  brevity 
and  rapidity,  only  confessed  their  own  inability  to  follow  the 
movements  of  poetical  inspiration.*  Of  the  two  grand  attributes 
of  the  ode,  Dryden  had  displayed  the  enthusiasm,  Gray  exhibited 
the  magnificence.  He  is  also  the  only  modern  English  writer 
whose  Latin  verses  deserve  general  notice,  but  we  must  lament 
that  such  difficult  trifles  had  diverted  his  genius  from  its  natural 
objects.  In  his  Letters  he  has  shown  the  descriptive  powers  of 
a  poet,  and  in  new  combinations  of  generally  familiar  words, 
which  he  seems  to  have  caught  from  Madame  de  Sevigne 
(though  it  must  be  said  he  was  somewhat  quaint),  he  was  emi- 
nently happy.  It  may  be  added  that  he  deserves  the  compara- 
tively trifling  praise  of  having  been  the  most  learned  poet  since 
Milton. 


196 


GRAY. 


I.— ELEGY   WRITTEN   IN   A  COUNTRY   CHURCH-YARD. 

[INTRODUCTION. — This  famous  poem  was  begun  by  Gray  in  1742,  finished 
in  1750,  and  first  printed  in  1751.  It  has  been  pronounced  "the  most  widely 
known  poem  in  our  language  " — a  popularity  to  be  sought  in  the  fact  that  "  it 
expresses  in  an  exquisite  manner  feelings  and  thoughts  that  are  universal," 
and  are  therefore  intelligible  to  all.  Though  not  wholly  free  from  faults,  the 
Elegy  is,  on  the  whole,  to  use  Gray's  felicitous  phrase,  "  a  gem  of  purest  ray 
serene."] 

1.  The  curfew*  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

2.  Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape*  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds ; 


NOTES. — Line  i.  curfew.    See  note  on 
//  Penseroso,  page  59,  Note  65, 


of  this  book.  —  parting,  depart- 
ing. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Define  Elegy.  (See  Def.  10.)  —  How  many  lines 
does  each  stanza  contain  ? — What  of  the  prosody  of  the  poem  ?  Ans.  Each 
quatrain  consists  of  four  lines  of  iambic  pentameter,  rhyming  alternately.  De- 
fine iambic  pentameter.  (See  Swinton's  New  School  Composition,  page  90, 
III.  and  note.) 

1-4.  The  curfew  ...  me.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically?  —  This 
stanza  contains  only  two  words  not  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin  :  which  are  these 
words? — What  word  in  this  stanza  belongs  to  the  diction  of  poetry?  —  State 
the  derivation  of  "curfew." — Which  line  in  this  stanza  contains  two  examples 
of  alliteration? 

I.  Tolls  the  knell.  What  figure  of  speech  is  this?  (See  Def.  20.) — Change 
into  a  simile.  (See  Def.  20,  il.) 

3.  The  ploughman  . . .  way.  A  critic  points  out  that  this  line  is  quite  peculiar 
in  its  possible  transformations,  and  adds  that  he  has  made  "  twenty  different 
versions  preserving  the  rhythm,  the  general  sentiment,  and  the  rhyming  word." 
Let  pupils  try  how  many  of  these  variations  they  can  make. 

5-8.  Now  . . .  folds.  In  this  stanza  what  epithets  are  applied  to  "  landscape  ?' 
"stillness?"  "flight?"  "tinkling?"  "fold?"  Rewrite  this  stanza,  omitting 
the  epithets  designated. — Are  meaning  and  metre  still  preserved? — What  is 
lacking? — Gray  has  been  accused  of  going  to  excess  in  the  use  of  epithets. 

6.  air.     Is  this  word  subject  or  object  ? — Transpose  into  the  prose  order. 


ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A   COUNTRY  CHURCH -YARD. 

3.  Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 

The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower,* 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

4.  Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  *  sleep. 

5.  The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,*  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

6.  For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
No  children  *  run  to  lisp-  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


197 


12.  reign.  The  word  is  here  used  in 
the  sense  not  of  rule,  but  of 
realm. 

16.  rude,  rustic,  unpolished. 


20.  their  lowly  bed,  not  the  grave,  as 
many  have  supposed,  but  the 
bed  on  which,  during  their  life, 
they  were  wont  to  lie. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 9-12.  Save . . .  reign.  Is  this  stanza  a  principal  or  a 
subordinate  proposition  ? — Save.  What  part  of  speech  here  ?  What  originally  ? 
(See  Glossary.) 

1 1.  as.     What  part  of  speech  here  ? 

13-16.  Beneath  ...  sleep.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically?  —  Change 
into  the  direct  order. 

15,  16.  Each .  . .  sleep.  With  what  noun  is  "each"  in  apposition? — What 
adjective  phrase  modifies  "each?" — What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  this  pas- 
sage ?  (See  Def.  20.) — Express  the  thought  in  prose  diction. 

19.  clarion.     Literal  or  metaphorical  ? 

20.  No  more  shall  rouse,  etc.     What  noun  forms  the  compound  grammatical 
subject  of  "shall  rouse  ?" — What  thought  in  the  previous  stanza  does  this  sen- 
tence carry  out  ? 

22.  ply  her  evening  care.    What  is  the  figure  here  ?     (See  Def.  20.)     Change 
into  a  plain  expression.1 

23.  run  to  lisp.    Compare  with  a  passage  in  Burns's  Cotter's  Saturday  Night, 
page  277,  lines  21,  22  of  this  volume. 

23,  24.  No  children  . .  .  share.  In  these  lines  point  out  two  infinitives  (of  pur- 
pose) that  are  used  adverbially.  What  does  each  modify?  — In  the  word 
"  children,"  how  is  the  plural  formed  ?  (See  Glossary.) 

1  Hales  remarks  that  "this  is  probably  the  kind  of  phrase  that  caused 


1 98  GRAY. 

7.  Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield,  2g 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  *  has  broke ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

8.  Let  not  Ambition  *  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ;  30 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

9.  The  boast  of  heraldry,*  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Awaits  alike  the  inevitable  hour.  -  35 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 


26.  furrow,  used  metaphorically  for  plough. — glebe,  ground. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 25-28.  Oft ...  stroke.  Change  this  stanza  into  equiv- 
alent sentences,  using  your  own  words. 

26.  broke.  State  the  correct  prose  form,  and  account  for  Gray's  using 
"broke." 

29,31.  Ambition.  .  .  Grandeur.  "Ambition"  is  equivalent  to  the  ambitious 
(figure  synecdoche).  To  what,  in  like  manner,  is  "  Grandeur  "  equivalent  ? 

31.  smile.  With  what  word  is  "smile"  made  to  rhyme?  Is  it  a  perfect 
rhyme  ? 

33-36.  The  boast  of  heraldry  ...  to  the  trravc.  This  solemnly  impressive 
stanza  is  associated  with  a  striking  event  in  American  history.  On  the  night 
before  the  attack  on  Quebec,  as  the  boats  were  silently  descending  the  St. 
Lawrence,  the  gallant  General  Wolf  "  repeated  in  a  low  tone  to  the  other 
officers  in  his  boat  those  beautiful  stanzas  with  which  a  country  church-yard 
inspired  the  muse  of  Gray,  and  at  the  close  of  the  recitation,  'Now,  gentle- 
men, I  would  rather  be  the  author  of  that  poem  than  take  Quebec.'"1  For 
himself,  he  was  within  a  few  hours  to  find  fulfilment  of  that  noble  line — 

"The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 
36.  but.     What  part  of  speech  here  ? 

Wordsworth  to  pronounce  the  language  of  the  Elegy  unintelligible" — a  judg- 
ment assuredly  too  censorious.  Wordsworth,  in  the  following  direct  manner, 
conveys  the  thought  which  Gray  thus  veils  : 

"And  she  I  cherished  turned  her  wheel 
Beside  an  English  fire." 

1  Lord  Mahon's  History  of  England. 


ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A   COUNTRY  CHURCH-YARD. 


199 


10.  Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 

If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 
Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  *  and  fretted  *  vault, 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise.  40 

11.  Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke*  the  silent  dust, 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death  ? 

12.  Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid  45 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 
Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 

13.  But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ;  *> 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

14.  Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene* 

The  dark  unf athom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen,  55 

And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


39.  fretted,  ornamented  with  fretwork, 
or  bands  intersecting  at  right 
angles. — vault,  arched  roof. 

41.  storied.  See  Il«Penseroso,  page  63, 
line  150,  note. 


43.  provoke,  to  call  forth,  to  rouse  to 
activity  —  the  etymological 
meaning  of  the  word.  (See 
Glossary.) 

51.  rage,  inspiration,  enthusiasm. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 38.  Memory  ...  no  trophies  raise.  What  combination 
of  figures  of  speech  here  ?  (See  Defs.  22,  20.) 

39, 40.  Where,  through  . . .  note  of  praise.     Express  this  in  plain  language. 

41-44.  Can  storied  .  . .  death  1  Analyze  this  stanza.  What  is  the  rhetorical 
effect  gained  here  by  the  use  of  the  interrogative  form  ? 

46-48.  By  what  circumlocutions  does  Gray  express  some  saint?  Some 
mighty  ruler  ?  Some  great  poet  ? 

47.  Hands.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

49,  50.  her  ample  page  .  .  .  unroll.  How  is  this  thought  connected  with  the 
original  meaning  of  the  word  volume?  (See  Glossary.) 

52.  fro/e,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

53.  many  a ...  purest  ray  serene.      What  is   the  position  of  the  adjectives 
with  reference  to  the  noun  ? — Of  whose  word-order  is  this  an  imitation?    (See 
L1  Allegro,  page  51,  line  32,  note.) 


200 


GRAY. 


15.  Some  village  Hampden  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 

The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood  • 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

1 6.  The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

17.  Their  lot  forbade;  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined ; 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind, 

18.  The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 

To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 


57,  Hampden.  John  Hampden  (born 
1594;  died  1647) — a  cousin  of 
the  great  Cromwell  —  was  an 
English  statesman  and  patriot. 
He  was  a  strenuous  opponent 
of  Charles  the  First's  illegal 
acts,  and  subsequently  a  leader 
in  the  civil  war. 

60.  Cromwell.     Oliver  Cromwell  (born 


1599;  died  1658)  was  the  great 
leader  in  the  English  civil  war, 
which  resulted  in  the  execution 
of  Charles  I.  Cromwell  be- 
came "  lord  protector  "  (virtual- 
ly king)  of  England  in  1653. 

66.  Their  growing  virtues  —  the  growth 
of  their  virtues. 

69.  conscious  =  consciousness  of. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 57-60.  What  form  of  die  figure  synecdoche  is  ex- 
emplified in  the  names  "  Hampden,"  "  Milton,"  "  Cromwell,"  as  here  used  ? 
(See  Def.  28.) 

59.  Some  mute,  etc.     Do  you  believe  it  possible  that  there  could  be  a  "  mute 
inglorious  Milton?" 

60.  Some  Cromwell  guiltless,  etc.      How  does  Gray  imply  that  he  believed 
Cromwell  guilty  "  of  his  country's  blood  ?" 1 

65.  forbade.     What  four  noun  phrases  are  the  object  of  "  forbade  ?" 

66,  68.  In  what  respects  did  their  lot  "  confine  their  crimes  ?"     (See  subse- 
quent lines.) 

1  The  prejudice  against  Cromwell  was  exceedingly  strong  during  the  i8th 
century,  and  it  is  only  in  our  own  time  that  justice  has  been  done  to  that 
heroic  character. 


ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A   COUNTRY  CHURCH-YARD. 

19.  Far  from  the  madding*  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 

Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 
Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 


2OI 


75 


20.  Yet  even  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  *  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh.  80 

21.  Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  the  unlettered  muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

22.  For  who,  to  dumb  forge tfulness  a  prey,  85 

This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 


73.  the  madding  crowd,  the  wild  or  fu- 
rious crowd. 

77.  these  bones :  that  is,  the  bones  of 
these. 


85.  who,  to  dumb,  etc. :  that  is,  "  Who 
ever  resigned  this  pleasing 
anxious  being  [life]  as  a  prey  to 
dumb  forgetfulness  ?" 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 75,  76.  Along  the  cool . . .  way.  Express  this  thought 
in  your  own  language. 

77-80.  Substitute  sentences  with  different  but  equivalent  words. 

81,  84.  Explain  "  unlettered  muse  ;"  "rustic  moralist." 

84.  That  teach.  What  is  the  antecedent  of  "  that  ?"  Consequently,  of  what 
number  is  it?  And  what  rule  of  syntax  is  violated  in  the  use  of  the  form 
5<  teach?" 

85-88.  For  who  .  . .  behind.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?— With 
what  verbal  noun  is  "  prey  "  in  apposition  ? — What  is  the  subject  of  "  left  ?" 
Of  "  cast  ?"  In  what  emphatic  way  does  the  poet  convey  the  thought  that 
41  no  one  ever  resigned  this  life  of  his  with  all  pleasures  and  pains  to  be  ut- 
terly ignored  and  forgotten  ?" — Observe  that  the  second  question  is  a  repe- 
tition or  amplification  of  the  first. 


202  GRAY. 

23.  On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 

Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

24.  For  thee  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead, 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 
If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, 

25.  Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

26.  "  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech 

That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 
His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 


95 


90.  pious,  filial. 

93.  For  thee  who :  that  is,  as  for  thee — 
namely,  the  poet  himself. 


95.  If  chance  =  if  perchance. 
103.  His  listless  length :  that  is,  his  tired 
body. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 89-92.  Observe  that  in  this  exquisite  stanza  the  poet 
answers  the  question  (twice  repeated)  in  the  previous  stanza. — Which  line  is 
an  amplification  of  89  ?  Which  of  91  ? 

•  90.  pious.     Show  that  this  word  is  here  used  in  its  original  Latin  sense. 
(See  Glossary.) 

92.  in  our  ashes ...  fires.  Compare  this  fine  expression  with  Chaucer's 
line — 

"  Yet  in  our  ashen  cold  is  fire  yreken." 

97-100.  In  this  stanza  there  is  but  one  word  not  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin : 
what  is  that  word  ? 

loo.  upland  lawn.     See  D Allegro,  line  84,  page  53  of  this  volume. 

101-103.  beech  . . .  stretch.     Remark  on  the  rhyme. 

104.  brook  that  babbles  by.     What  is  the  figure  here  ?    (See  Def.  80.)      . 


ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A   COUNTRY  CHURCH-YARD.     203 

27.  "  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn,  105 

Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove; 
Now  drooping,  woful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

28.  "  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'customed  hill, 

Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree ;  no 

Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

29.  "  The  next,  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array, 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne. 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay,  HS 

Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

THE   EPITAPH.* 

30.  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth 

A  youth  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown ; 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 

And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own.  120 

31.  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send ; 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear ; 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wished)  a  friend. 


107.  wan,  having  a  pale  or  sickly  look. 
in.  Another:  that  is,  another  morn. 
1 14.  church  •  way,    the    path     leading 

church  -  way  or  church  -ward; 

or,   as     has    been    suggested, 


"  church  -  way  may  be  a  cor- 
ruption of  the  old  English  word 
church-hay  =  church-yard." 
115.  lay.      The   "lay"  refers  to  the 
rhymed  epitaph  which  follows. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 105.  To  what  word  is  the  adjective  phrase  "now 
smiling  as  in  scorn  "  an  adjunct  ? 

109.  One  morn.     Query  as  to  the  construction  of  "morn." 

115.  (for  thou  canst  read^.  What  may  be  inferred  as  to  the  "hoary-headed 
swain's  "  ability  to  read  ? 

117.  rests.     What  is  the  subject  of  this  verb? 

117-120,  Give  examples  of  personification  in  this  stanza. 

1 19.  Fair  Science  . . .  birth.     Express  the  thought  in  your  own  language. 

123.  Misery.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?— tear.  With  what  is  this  word 
in  apposition? 


204 


GRAY. 


32.  No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


125 


II.— THE   PROGRESS   OF   POESY. 
A  PINDARIC  ODE. 

[INTRODUCTION.— The  Progress  of  Poesy  is  called  by  Gray  a  "  Pindaric 
Ode  ;"  that  is,  an  ode  after  the  manner  of  Pindar,  the  Greek  lyric  poet  (born 
in  Thebes  about  B.C.  520).  It  must  be  said,  however,  that  though  it  may  have 
the  Pindaric  form,  it  has  little  of  the  Pindaric  fire.  Still,  the  Ode  is  a  beauti- 
ful and  interesting  composition :  it  shines  everywhere,  and  in  some  passages 
rises  to  sublimity.  It  was  first  published  in  1757. 

The  Ode  is  written,  not  in  uniform  stanzas,  but  in  uniform  groups  of  stanzas, 
the  nine  stanzas  forming  three  uniform  groups.  Thus  the  ist,  4th,  and  7th 
stanzas  are  exactly  intercorrespondent ;  so  the  2d,  5th,  and  8th,  and  so  the 
remaining  three.] 

I.      I. 

Awake,  yEolian  lyre,  awake, 
And  give  to  rapture*  all  thy  trembling  strings. 
From  Helicon's  harmonious  springs 

A  thousand  rills  their  mazy*  progress  take  ; 


NOTES. — I.  £olian  lyre.  Pindar  styles 
his  own  poetry,  with  its  musi- 
cal accompaniments,  "vEolian 
song,"  "  ^Eolian  strings  ;"  so 
that  Gray's  expression  is  equiv- 
alent to  lyre  such  as  Pindar 
struck.  "  ^Eolian,"  pertaining 
to  ^olia,  a  Greek  colony  in 
Asia  Minor,  where  Greek  lyric 
genius  was  first  developed. 

I-I2.  Gray  himself  thus  explains  the 
"  motive  "  of  the  first  stanza  : 
"  The  various  sources  of  poet- 
ry, which  gives  life  and  lustre 
to  all  it  touches,  _are  here 


described  ;  its  quiet,  majestic 
progress  enriching  every  sub- 
ject (otherwise  dry  and  bar- 
ren) with  a  pomp  of  diction 
and  luxuriant  harmony  of  num- 
bers ;  and  its  more  rapid  and 
irresistible  course,  when  swol- 
len and  hurried  away  by  the 
conflict  of  tumultuous  pas- 
sions." 

2.  rapture :  that  is,  poetic  rapture. 

3.  Helicon's  . .  .  springs.    In  the  moun- 

tain range  of  Helicon  (in  Boeo- 
tia)  were  two  fountains  sacred 
to  the  Muses. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  125,  126.  What  words  in  these  lines  are  used  an- 
tithetically ? 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY. 

The  laughing  flowers  that  round  them  blow 
Drink  life  and  fragrance  as  they  flow. 
Now  the  rich  stream  of  music*  winds  along, 
Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong, 
Through  verdant  vales,  and  Ceres'  golden  reign ; 
Now  rolling  down  the  steep  amain, 
Headlong,  impetuous,  see  it  pour ; 
The  rocks  and  nodding  groves  rebellow  to  the  roar. 

I.     2. 

O  sovereign  of  the  willing  soul, 
Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  airs  ! 
Enchanting  shell !  the  sullen  cares 

And  frantic  passions  hear  thy  soft  control. 
On  Thracia's  hills  the  Lord  of  War 
Has  curbed  the  fury  of  his  car, 
And  dropped  his  thirsty  lance  at  thy  command. 
Perching  on  the  sceptred  hand 
Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feathered  king 
With  ruffled  plumes  and  flagging  wing ; 
Quenched  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber  lie 
The  terror  of  his  beak  and  the  lightnings  of  his  eye. 

I-     3- 

Thee  the  voice,  the  dance,  obey, 
Tempered*  to  thy  warbled  lay. 


205 


9.  Cc'res  (Greek  Demeter),  one  of  the 
greater  divinities,  the  protec- 
tress of  agriculture  and  of  all  the 
fruits  of  the  earth. 

10.  amain,  with  force  or  strength. 

13-24.  The  motive  of  this  stanza  is 
thus  explained  by  Gray  :  "  Pow- 
er of  harmony  to  calm  the  tur- 
bulent sallies  of  the  soul.  The 
thoughts  are  borrowed  from  the 
first  Pythian  of  Pindar." 

15.  shell,  the  lyre,  in  allusion  to  the 
'  myth  that  Mercury  made  the 


first  lyre  from  the  shell  of  a  tor- 
toise. 

17.  the  Lord  of  War,  Mars,  believed  to 
have  his  abiding  -  place  in 
Thrace. 

21.  the  feathered  king.  The  usual  at- 
tributes of  Jupiter  (Zeus)  are 
the  sceptre,  eagle,  and  thunder- 
bolt. 

The  motive  of  this  stanza  is 
thus  explained  by  Gray  :  "  Pow- 
er of  harmony  to  produce  all  the 
graces  of  motion  in  the  body." 


25-41. 


206 


GRAY. 


O'er  Idalia's  velvet  green 

The  rosy-crowned  Loves  are  seen 

On  Cytherea's  day ; 

With  antic  *  Sport  and  blue-eyed  Pleasures, 

Frisking  light  in  frolic  *  measures, 

Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet. 
To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  *  beating, 

Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 
Slow,  melting  strains  their  queen's  approach  declare  ; 

Where'er  she  turns,  the  Graces  homage  pay. 
With  arms  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air, 

In  gliding  state  she  wins  her  easy  way. 
O'er  her  warm  cheek  and  rising  bosom  move 
The  bloom  of  young  desire  and  purple  light  of  love. 


35 


II.         I. 

Man's  feeble  race  what  ills  await ! 
Labor,  and  penury,  the  racks  of  pain, 
Disease,  and  sorrow's  weeping  train, 

And  death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  fate  ! 
The  fond  complaint,  my  song,  disprove, 
And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove. 
Say,  has  he  given  in  vain  the  heavenly  Muse  ? 
Night,  and  all  her  sickly  dews, 
Her  spectres  wan,  and  birds  of  boding  cry, 
He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky ; 


27.  Idalia  (for  7dalium),  a  town  in  Cy- 
prus where  Venus  was  wor- 
shipped. 

29.  Cytherea,  Venus. 

30.  antic,  fantastic. 

42-53.  Gray  says,  in  explanation  of  this 
stanza,  "  To  compensate  the 
real  and  imaginary  ills  of  life, 


the  Muse  was  given  to  man- 
kind by  the  same  Providence 
that  sends  the  day,  by  its  cheer- 
ful presence,  to  dispel  the  gloom 
and  terror  of  the  night." 

46.  fond,  foolish. 

47.  Jove  —  Jupiter. 

50.  boding,  foreshowing,  presaging. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY. 

Till  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar 
Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glittering  shafts  of  war. 

II.     2. 

In  climes  beyond  the  solar  road, 
Where  shaggy  forms  o'er  ice-built  mountains  roam, 
The  Muse  has  broke  the  twilight  *  gloom 

To  cheer  the  shivering  native's  dull  abode. 
And  oft,  beneath  the  odorous  *  shade 
Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid, 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  youth  repeat, 
In  loose  numbers  wildly  sweet, 
Their  feather-cinctured  *  chiefs  and  dusky  loves. 
Her  track,  where'er  the  goddess  roves, 
Glory  pursue,  and  generous  shame, 
The  unconquerable  mind,  and  freedom's  holy  flame. 

II.     3- 

Woods  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep, 
Isles  that  crown  the  ^Egean  deep, 


207 


53.  Hyperion,  the  sun.     The  accent  is, 

properly,  on  the  penult  (Hype- 
ri'on).  Gray,  with  most  of  the 
poets,  wrongly  makes  it  on  the 
antepenult. 

54-65.  Gray  says,  in  explanation  of  this 
stanza,  "  Extensive  influence 
of  poetic  genius  over  the  re- 
motest and  most  uncivilized  na- 
tions :  its  connection  with  lib- 
erty and  the  virtues  that  natu- 
rally attend  on  it." 

54.  solar  road,  the  ecliptic.      The  ex- 

pression is  here  equivalent  to 
the  extreme  north.  Compare 
with  an  expression  of  Pope's  in 


the  Essay  on  Man,  line  102 
page  156,  of  this  book. 

56.  broke  =  broken. 

62.  cinctured,  girt. 

64.  pursue.  This  use  of  the  plural 
verb  with  the  first  of  a  series 
of  subjects  is  an  imitation  of  the 
Greek  idiom. 

66-82.  Gray  says,  in  explanation  of  this 
stanza,  "  Progress  of  poetry 
from  Greece  to  Italy,  and  from 
Italy  to  England." 

66.  Delphi's  steep  is  at  the  foot  of  the 
southern  uplands  ot  Mount  Par- 
nassus, which  ends  in  a  pre- 
cipitous cliff. 


208  GRAY. 

Fields  that  cool  Ilissus  laves, 

Or  where  Maeander's  amber  waves 
In  lingering  labyrinths  *  creep,  «, 

How  do  your  tuneful  echoes  languish, 

Mute  but  to  the  voice  of  anguish  ! 
Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around ; 
Every  shade  and  hallowed  fountain  7e 

Murmured  deep  a  solemn  sound, 
Till  the  sad  Nine,  in  Greece's  evil  hour, 

Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latian  plains. 
Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power 

And  coward  Vice  that  revels  in  her  chains.  ao 

When  Latium  had  her  lofty  spirit  lost, 
They  sought,  O  Albion  !  *  next  thy  sea-encircled  coast. 

III.     i. 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer  gale, 
In  thy  green  lap  was  nature's  darling  laid, 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  strayed,  85 

To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face :  the  dauntless  child 
Stretched  forth  his  little  arms  and  smiled. 
"This  pencil  take,"  she  said,  "  whose  colors  clear      * 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  *  year  :  go 

Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  boy ! 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy ; 
Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears, 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears." 


68.  Ilis'sus.   This  stream  flows  through 

the  east  side  of  Athens. 

69,  70.  Maeander's  .  .  .  irayes  .  .  .  laby- 

rinths creep.  On  the  banks  of 
the  river  Maeander,  in  Asia  Mi- 
nor, was  the  city  of  Miletus,  one 


tricate  turnings  and  windings. 
Hence  our  verb  to  meander. 

77.  Nine,  the  nine  Muses. 

78.  Latian  plains  =  plains    of  Latium, 

or  Italy. 
82.  Albion,  England. 


of  the  earliest  seats  of  Hellenic  |  84.  nature's   darling:    that   is,   Shake^ 
culture.      In   its   lower   course  speare.       Compare    L'Alctgro^ 

this  river  flows  through  a  wide  page  55,  line  125,  of  this  book, 

plain,  where  it  wanders  in  in-    86.  mighty  mother,  nature. 


THE  PROGRESS   OF  POESY. 


209 


III.       2. 

Nor  second  he  that  rode  sublime  *  95 

Upon  the  seraph  wings  of  ecstasy  * 
The  secrets  of  the  abyss  to  spy. 

He  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time  ; 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 

Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze,  «» 

He  saw ;  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 
Behold,  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  *  car, 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 

Two  coursers  of  ethereal  *  race,  ios 

With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,  and  long  resounding  pace. 

HI.     3- 

Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore  ! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy  hovering  o'er, 

Scatters  from  her  pictured  urn 

Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn.  no 

But,  ah  !  'tis  heard  no  more : 
O  lyre  divine,  what  daring  spirit 
Wakes  thee  now  ?     Though  he  inherit 


95.  he :  that  is,  Milton.  Gray  was  a 
profound  student,  an  enthusi- 
astic admirer,  and  a  frequent 
imitator  of  Milton,  and  here 
pays  a  sublime  tribute  to  the 
Puritan  bard. 

99.  The  living  throne,  etc.  See  Eze- 
kiel  i.,  20,  26,  28. 

101.  blasted  . . .  light.  Compare  Mil- 
ton's expression  (Paradise  Lost. 
iii.,  380) :  "  Dark  with  excessive 
bright  thy  skirts  appear." 

103.  Dryden.  Gray  "  admired  Dryden 
almost  beyond  bounds."  He 
told  Beattie  that  "  if  there  was 


any  excellence  in  his  own  num- 
bers, he  had  learned  it  wholly 
from  that  great  poet." 

105.  Two  coursers,  meaning  the  heroic 
couplet  (as  in  Absalom  and 
Achitophet))  which  in  Dryden's 
hands  acquired  great  vigor. 

107.  his  hands:  that  is,  Dryden's. 

in.  "  We  have  had  in  our  language 
no  other  ode  of  the  sublime 
kind  than  that  of  Dryden  on 
St.  Cecilia's  Day."— GRAY. 

113.  Wakes  thee  now:  that  is,  in  this 
poem.— he.  Gray  is  here  mod- 
estly referring  to  himself. 


210 


GRAY. 


Nor  the  pride  nor  ample  pinion* 

That  the  Theban  eagle  bear, 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 

Through  the  azure  deep  of  air ; 
Yet  oft  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 

Such  forms  as  glitter  in  the  Muse's  ray 
With  orient  hues,  unborrowed  of  the  sun  : 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  his  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate, 
Beneath  the  good  how  far  !  but  far  above  the  great. 


115.  Theban  eagle,  Pindar. 

1 20.  With  orient  hues.  Compare  Mil- 
ton (Paradise  Lost,  i.,  546)  : 
"with  orient  colors  waving." 

122.  Beyond  . . .  fate.     Gray's  original 


manuscript  has, "  Yet  never  can 
he  fear  a  vulgar  fate."     The 
change  is  an  improvement. 
123.  the  great,  the  merely  worldly  great, 
high  in  station. 


XIII. 

OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

1728-1774. 


THACKERAY'S  TRIBUTE  TO  GOLDSMITH.1 

i.  Who,  of  the  millions  whom  Goldsmith  has  amused,  doesn't 
love  him  ?  To  be  the  most  beloved  of  English  writers,  what  a 
title  that  is  for  a  man !  A  wild  youth,  wayward,  but  full  of  ten- 

1  From  Thackeray's  Humorists  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 


212  GOLDSMITH. 

derness  and  affection,  quits  the  country  village  where  his  boy- 
hood has  been  passed  in  happy  musing,  in  idle  shelter,  in  fond 
longing  to  see  the  great  world  out-of-doors,  and  achieve  name 
and  fortune ;  and  after  years  of  dire  struggle,  and  neglect  and 
poverty,  his  heart  turning  back  as  fondly  to  his  native  place  as  it 
had  longed  eagerly  for  change  when  sheltered  there,  he  writes  a 
book  and  a  poem  full  of  the  recollections  and  feelings  of  home 
— he  paints  the  friends  and  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  peoples 
Auburn  and  Wakefield  with  remembrances  of  Lissoy.  Wander 
he  must,  but  he  carries  away  a  home-relic  with  him,  and  dies  with 
it  on  his  breast. 

2.  His  nature  is  truant;  in  repose  it  longs  for  change,  as  on 
the  journey  it  looks  back  for  friends  and  quiet.     He  passes  to- 
day in  building  an  air-castle  for  to-morrow,  or  in  writing  yester- 
day's elegy;  and  he  would  fly  away  this  hour,  but  that  a  cage 
and  necessity  keep  him.     What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of  his 
style,  and  humor  ?     His  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate  compassion, 
his  soft  smile,  his  tremulous  sympathy,  the  weakness  which  he 
owns  ?     Your  love  for  him  is  half  pity.     You   come  hot  and 
tired  from  the  day's  battle,  and  this  sweet  minstrel  sings  t(> 
you. 

3.  Who  could  harm  the  kind  vagrant  harper  ?     Whom  did  he 
ever  hurt  ?     He  carries  no  weapon,  save  the  harp  on  which  he 
plays  to  you ;  and  with  which  he  delights  great  and  humble, 
young  and  old,  the  captains  in  the  tents  or  the  soldiers  round 
the  fire,  or  the  women  and  children  in  the  villages,  at  whose 
porches  he  stops  and  sings  his  simple  songs  of  love  and  beauty. 
With  that  sweet  story  of  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  he  has  found 
entry  into  every  castle  and  every  hamlet  in  Europe.    Not  one  of 
us,  however  busy  or  hard,  but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives  has 
passed  an  evening  with  him,  and  undergone  the  charm  of  his  de- 
lightful music. 

4.  Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless,  vain  if  you  like,  but  mer- 
ciful, gentle,  generous,  full  of  love  and  pity.     He  passes  out  of 
our  life,  and  goes  to  render  his  account  beyond  it.    Think  of  the 
poor  pensioners  weeping  at  his  grave ;  think  of  the  noble  spirits 
that  admired  and  deplored  him ;  think  of  the  righteous  pen  that 
wrote  his  epitaph,  and  of  the  wonderful  and  unanimous  response 
of  affection  with  which  the  world  has  paid  back  the  love  he  gave 


THE  DESERTED   VILLAGE. 


213 


it.  His  humor  delights  us  still ;  his  song  is  fresh  and  beautiful 
as  when  first  he  charmed  with  it ;  his  words  are  in  all  our 
mouths ;  his  very  weaknesses  are  beloved  and  familiar.  His 
benevolent  spirit  seems  still  to  smile  upon  us ;  to  do  gentle 
kindnesses  ;  to  succor  with  sweet  charity ;  to  soothe,  caress,  and 
forgive ;  to  plead  with  the  fortunate  for  the  unhappy  and  the 
poor. 


THE   DESERTED    VILLAGE. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  Deserted  Village was  first  published  in  1770,  and  im- 
mediately became  exceedingly  popular.  The  work  belongs  to  the  class  of  di- 
dactic poems,  the  purpose  being  to  set  forth  the  evils  of  the  luxury  that  pre- 
vailed in  the  England  of  Goldsmith's  day.  It  has  often  been  pointed  out  that 
the  poet  blundered  in  his  political  economy;  but  it  is  of  little  moment  to  in- 
quire is  he  right  or  wrong — our  interest  being,  not  in  the  moral  of  the  poem, 
but  in  its  art;  in  its  charming  "interiors,"  in  its  fine  bits  of  portraiture,  and 
in  the  sweetness  and  grace  that  pervade  its  melodious  lines.] 

Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain; 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring  swain, 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed : 
Dear  lovely  bowers  *  of  innocence  and  ease, 
Seats  of  my  youth  when  every  sport  could  please, 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene ! 


T'lOTES. — Line  I.  Sweet  Auburn.  There 
have  been  various  claimants  for 
the  honor  of  being  the  village 
intended  by  Goldsmith,  but  it 
is  doubtful  whether  "  Auburn  " 
ever  existed  in  any  other  geog- 


raphy than  the  poet's  own  im- 
agination. 
2.  swain.    See  Gray's  Elegy,  page  202. 

4.  parting.      See   Gray's   Elegy,  page 

202. 

5.  bowers :  poetice  for  dwellings. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — What  other  poem,  previously  studied,  does  the  De- 
serted Village  resemble  in  versification  ? 

i.  village.     Grammatical  construction  of  this  word? 

3,  4.  Where  smiling  . . .  delayed.  Express  the  meaning  of  this  couplet  in  your 
own  language. — What  figure  of  speech  is  there  in  this  couplet  ?  (See  Def.  22.) 


2I4 


GOLDSMITH. 


How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm — 

The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 

The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 

The  decent*  church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill, 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 

For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made  ! 

How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coming  day, 

When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play, 

And  all  the  village  train,*  from  labor  free, 

Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree, 

While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 

The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed ; 

And  many  a  gambol  *  frolicked  *  o'er  the  ground, 

And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round. 

And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 

Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired : 

The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown 

By  holding  out  to  tire  each  other  down ; 

The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 

While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place ; 

The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong*  looks  of  love, 

The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove. 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village  !  sports  like  these, 

With  sweet  succession,  taught  even  toil  to  please ; 


10.  cot  =  cottage. 

12.  decent,  suitable,  proper. 

16,  remitting,  being  over. — lent  its  turn 

to,  gave  way  to. 

17.  Tillage  train :    that   is,  the   whole 

body  of  villagers  drawn  along 
together  to  the  sport. 


19.  circled,  went  round. 

21.  gambol  frolicked,  etc. :  that  is,  many 

a  sportive  prank  was  played  in 

a  frolicsome  manner. 
25.  simply,  in  a  simple  manner,  with 

simplicity. 
27.  smutted,  blackened,  dirty. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  9-14.  The  abstract  term  "every  charm"  is  ex- 
plained by  a  series  of  particulars  that  give  a  concrete  conception  of  what  these 
charms  were  :  enumerate  these  particulars.  Could  a  picture  be  painted  from 
the  description  ? 

14.  talking  age.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  29.) 

21.  gambol  frolicked.     Give  the  derivation  of  these  words. 

24.  band.     Is  this  word  in  the  direct  or  poetic  order  ? 


215 


THE  DESERTED   VILLAGE. 

'These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed; 
These  were  thy  charms — but  all  these  charms  are  fled. 

Sweet  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn,  35 

Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn ; 
Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green  : 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain.  4o 

No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 
But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way : 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest ; 
Amidst  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies,  45 

And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries ; 
Sunk  are  thy  bowers  in  shapeless  ruin  all, 
And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mouldering  wall ; 
And  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's  hand, 
Far,  far  away  thy  children  leave  the  land.  50 

111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay : 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade, — 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made ; 
But  a  bold  peasantry,*  their  country's  pride,  55 

When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied. 


35.  lawn.     The  word  is  here  equiva- 

-    lent  to  "plain  "  in  line  i. 
37.  tyrant's  hand:  that  is,  the  despot- 
ism of  the  great  land-owners. 

39.  One  only  =  one  sole. 

40.  stints,  deprives  of  beauty  and  luxu- 

riance. 

44.  bittern,  a  wading  bird  of  Europe, 
related  to  the  herons  :  it  stalks 


among  reeds  and  sedges,  feed- 
ing upon  fish.  Dryden  calls  the 
sound  it  makes  bumping.  See 
Isaiah  xiv.,  23  ;  xxxiv.,  n. 

49,  50.  shrinking . . .  land :  that  is,  owing 
to  the  absorption  of  the  land  by 
great  proprietors,  the  peasantry 
were  forced  to  emigrate. 

52.  decay,  decrease  in  number. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 41-48.  By  what  fine  touches  does  Goldsmith  con- 
vey a  vivid  idea  of  the  utter  desolation  into  which  the  village  had  fallen  ? 

51.  Ill ...  ills.  Perhaps  the  use  of  "  ill "  (adverb)  and  "  ills  "  (noun)  in  the 
same  line  may  fairly  be  deemed  infelicitous.  A  word  should  not  be  repeated 
in  the  same  sentence,  unless  the  repetition  is  artistic. 

51,  52.  Ill ...  decay.    Transpose  this  couplet  into  the  prose  order. 


2l6 


GOLDSMITH. 


A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 
When  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its  man ; 
For  him  light  labor  spread  her  wholesome  store. 
Just  gave  what  life  required,  but  gave  no  more  : 
His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health, 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth. 

But  times  are  altered ;  trade's  unfeeling  train 
Usurp  the  land  and  dispossess  the  swain  ; 
Along  the  lawn,  where  scattered  hamlets  rose, 
Unwieldy  wealth  and  cumbrous  pomp  repose, 
And  every  want  to  opulence  allied, 
And  every  pang  that  folly  pays  to  pride. 
These  gentle  hours  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom, 
Those  calm  desires  that  asked  but  little  room, 
Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  peaceful  scene, 
Lived  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the  green ; 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore, 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 

Sweet  Auburn  !  parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 
Thy  glades  forlorn  *  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 
Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 
Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 


73 


58.  rood,  another  form  of  rod. 
63.  trade's  . .  .  train :  that  is,  the  peo- 
ple that  trade  brings  with  it. 


76.  confess,  show. 

81.  busy  train:  that  is,  all  the  things 
that  memory  calls  up. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 58.  When  . . .  man.     Explain  this  statement. 

59.  light  labor.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  22.) — her.  Why 
"her?" 

62.  And  his  ...  wealth.  Explain  what  is  meant  by  saying  that  "  ignorance 
of  wealth  was  his  best  riches." 

64.  Usurp.     How  do  you  justify  the  use  of  the  plural  number  ? 

66.  Unwieldy  . .  .  repose.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

67,  68.  want . .  .  pang.     Of  what  verb,  understood,  are  "  want "  and  "  pang  n 
the  subjects  ? 

69.  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom.     Express  this  in  plainer  language. 
69-74.  These  gentle  hours  ...  no  more.     Analyze  this  sentence. 


THE  DESERTED    VILLAGE. 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs — and  God  has  given  my  share — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose. 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still, 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw ; 
And,  as  an  hare  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return— and  die  at  home  at  last. 

O  blest  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Retreats  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine, 
How  happy  he  who  crowns  in  shades  like  these 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 
Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep ; 
No  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state, 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate ; 


100.  an  age  =  an  old  age.  i  that  of  itself  betrays  the  crimi- 

105.  in  guilty  state:  that  is,  in  an  array  j  nal  luxury  of  the  proprietor. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 83-88.  In  all ...  repose.     What  kind  of  sentence  is 
this  rhetorically  ? 

85.  my  latest  hours  to  crown.     What  kind  of  phrase,  and  modifying  what  ? 

87.  To  husband.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?    (See  Def.  20.)     Change 
into  plain  language. 
..     92.  And  tell .  .  .  saw.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

93,  94.  And,  as  an  hare  . .  .  flew.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def. 
19.) — Should  we  now  say  "  an  hare  ?" — Give  an  example  of  pleonasm  in  line  94. 

99.  crowns.     Is  this  verb  used  in  a  literal  or  in  a  metaphorical  sense  ? 

102.  to  combat ...  to  fly.     To  combat  what  ? — To  fly  from  what  ? 

103.  For  him.     For  whom  ? 

104.  tempt  the  dangerous  deep.     Change  into  plain  language. 

106.  imploring  famine.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  28.) 


2l8 


GOLDSMITH. 


But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend ; 
Bends  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way ; 
And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past ! 

Sweet  was  the  sound  when  oft,  at  evening's  close, 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose. 
There  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  *  the  whispering  wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind, — 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 
And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  *  had  made. 
But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail, 
No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale, 


107.  his  latter  end :  that  is,  his  death ; 

a  Biblical  expression, 
no.  slopes,  eases. 
115.  careless,  free  from  care. 

121.  bayed,  barked  at. 

122.  spoke,  bespoke,  indicated. 

123.  sought  the  shade:    that  is,  these 


various  sounds  were  heard  in 

the  evening-tide. 
124.  pause,  a  stop  or  intermission  in 

the  song  of  the  nightingale. 
126.  fluctuate,  float.  —  gale,  not   here 

used  in  its  full  meaning,  but  as 

equivalent  to  breeze,  wind. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  113,  114.  Sweet . . .  rose.  Transpose  this  couplet 
into  the  prose  order. 

115.  careless  steps  and  slow.     Remark  on  the  position  of  the  adjectives. 

117.  The  swain  . . .  sung.     Change  into  plain  language. — sung.     Modernize. 

118.  herd.     Tell  from  the  pronoun  the  number  in  which  Goldsmith  intends 
*herd"  to  be.     Compare  Gray's  Elegy,  page  196,  line  2. 

1 19.  Point  out  an  instance  of  alliteration  in  this  line. 

122.  Observe  the  true  touch  in  this  line  ;  but  does  it  mean  that  every  "loud 
laugh"  indicates  a  vacant  mind? — Give  an  Anglo-Saxon  synonym  of  "va- 
cant" 


THE  DESERTED   VILLAGE.  319 

No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 

For  all  the  bloomy  flush  of  life  is  fled. 

All  but  yon  widowed,  solitary  thing, 

That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring :  iy, 

She,  wretched  matron,  forced  in  age,  for  bread, 

To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread, 

To  pick  her  wintry  fagot  from  the  thorn, 

To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn ; 

She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train,  135 

The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 

II. 

Near  yonder  copse,*  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden-flower  grows  wild ; 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  *  rose.        •  I40 

A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place ; 
Unpractised  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power,  *45 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 
More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train ; 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain :  150 


128.  bloomy  =  blooming.    This  form  is 

used  by  Milton  and  Dryden. 
130.  plashy,  puddle-like. 
137.  copse,  underbrush. 
142.  passing,     very.       Forty     pounds 


seems  to  have  been  the  average 
salary  of  a  curate  in  England 
during  the  i8th  century. 

144.  place,  position. 

149.  vagrant  train,  tramps. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 129-136.  Observe  that  the  absence  of  life  in  the  de- 
serted village  is  rendered  the  more  impressive  by  this  particular  instance  of 
the  presence  of  life.  In  this  description  of  the 

"widowed,  solitary  thing," 
which  do  you  think  is  the  most  picturesque  circumstance  mentioned  ? 


220  GOLDSMITH. 

The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 

Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 

The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 

Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed ; 

The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay,  *55 

Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away, 

Wept  o'er  his  wounds  or  tales  of  sorrow  done, 

Shouldered  his  crutch  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 

Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow. 

And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe ;  »&» 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 

His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side ; 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call,  165 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all ; 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way.  17° 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise,  »?s 

And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place  : 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools  who  came  to  scoff  remained  to  pray.  180 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 
Even  children  followed  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed ;  185 

Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed : 


155.  broken,  retired  from  service,  bro~  I  171.  parting.     See  Gray's  Elegy,  page 
ken  down.  2O2,  line  89. 


THE  DESERTED    VILLAGE. 


221 


To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 

But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 

As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 

Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 

Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread. 

Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view ; 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew ; 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face  ; 
Full  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned. 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught, 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault ; 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew; 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge : 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill ; 
For  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still ; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around ; 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew 
That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed  is  forgot. 
Near  yonder  thorn  that  lifts  its  head  on  high, 
Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing  eye, 


190 


193 


205 


194.  furze,  an  evergreen  shrub. 

199.  boding  —  foreboding. 

209.  terms  and  tides  presage.  "  Terms  " 
and  "  tides "  are  here  equiva- 
lent to  times  and  seasons. 


Tide    literally    means   time.  — 

presage,  foretell. 
210.  gauge,  measure   the   capacity   of 

vessels. 
219.  thorn  —  thorn-tree. 


222 


GOLDSMITH. 


Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts  inspired, 

Where  graybeard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  retired, 

Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound, 

And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 

Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace  -.25 

The  parlor  splendor  of  that  festive  place  : 

The  whitewashed  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor, 

The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door; 

The  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 

A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day ;  230 

The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use, 

The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose ; 

The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chilled  the  day, 

With  aspen  boughs  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay  \ 

While  broken  teacups,  wisely  kept  for  show,  235 

Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 

Vain  transitory  splendors  !  could  not  all 
Reprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall  ? 
Obscure  it  sinks,  nor  shall  it  more  impart 

An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart.  240 

Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care  ; 
No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  woodman's  ballad  shall  prevail ; 
No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear,  245 

Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  lean  to  hear ; 


221.  that  house,  the  inn.  —  nut-brown 
draughts  =  draughts  of  nut- 
brown  ale. 

229.  double  debt  to  pay,  to  serve  a 
double  purpose. 

232.  The  twelve  good  rules.  These 
rules  were  :  I.  Urge  no  healths 
[=  health  -  drinkings].  2.  Pro- 
fane no  divine  ordinances.  3. 
Touch  no  state  matters.  4.  Re- 
veal no  secrets.  5.  Pick  no 
quarrels.  6.  Make  no  compar- 
isons. 7.  Maintain  no  ill  opin- 
ions. 8.  Keep  no  bad  compa- 


ny. 9.  Encourage  no  vice.  10. 
Make  no  long  meals,  n.  Re- 
peat no  grievances.  12.  Lay  no 
wagers. — the  royal  game  of  goose, 
the  game  of  the  fox  and  the 
geese. 

236.  chimney,  fireplace.  See  Milton's 
L1  Allegro,  page  56,  line  103,  of 
this  book. 

244.  woodman's  ballad.  Woodman  = 
hunter,  forester;  and  woodman's 
ballad  =  one  of  the  tales  of 
Robin  Hood,  the  hero  of  forest- 
ers. 


THE  DESERTED   VILLAGE.  223 

The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 

Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round ; 

Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  be  prest, 

Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest.  350 

Yes !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train ; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 
One  native  charm  than  all  the  gloss  of  art ; 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  Nature  has  its  play,  2*5 

The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway ; 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfined. 
But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  arrayed —  260 

In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain  ; 
And,  e'en  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy, 
The  heart  distrusting  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen  who  survey  265 

The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay, 
'Tis  yours  to  judge  how  wide  the  limits  stand 
Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 
Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore, 
And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore ;  270 

Hoards  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound, 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains.     This  wealth  is  but  a  name 
That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 
Not  so  the  loss.     The  man  of  wealth  and  pride  275 

Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied ; 
Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds : 
The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robbed  the  neighboring  fields  of  half  their  growth  :        280 
His  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green : 


248.  mantling  bliss,  foaming  ale. 


224 


GOLDSMITH. 


Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies 

For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies ; 

While  thus  the  land  adorned  for  pleasure  all  285 

In  barren  splendor  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

As  some  fair  female  unadorned  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 
Slights  every  borrowed  charm  that  dress  supplies, 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes ;  290 

But  when  those  charms  are  past,  for  charms  are  fraii, 
When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 
She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress. 

Thus  fares  the  land  by  luxury  betrayed  :  395 

In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed, 
But  verging  to  decline,  its  splendors  rise ; 
Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise  : 
While,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smiling  land, 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band,  300 

And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save, 
The  country  blooms — a  garden  and  a  grave. 

Where  then,  ah  !  where,  shall  poverty  reside, 
To  scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride  ? 
If  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  strayed  305 

He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade, 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  divide, 
And  even  the  bare-worn  common  is  denied. 

If  to  the  city  sped — what  waits  him  there  ? 
To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share ;  310 

To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
To  pamper  luxury  and  thin  mankind  ; 
To  see  those  joys  the  sons  of  pleasure  know 
Extorted  from  his  fellow-creature's  woe. 

Here  while  the  courtier  glitters  in  brocade,  315 

There  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade ; 


283,  284.  Around  the  world  .  .  .  supplies : 
that  is,  the  country  exports 
products  needed  for  home  con- 
sumption, in  order  to  obtain 
mere  superfluities  and  luxuries. 


293.  to  bless:    that  is,  to  bless  some 

one  with  her  hand. 
298.  vistas,  sights. 
316.  artist  =  artisan.  —  the  sickly  trade 

=some  trade  injurious  to  health. 


THE   DESERTED   VILLAGE.  225 

Here  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomps  display, 

There  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way. 

The  dome  where  pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign 

Here,  richly  decked,  admits  the  gorgeous  train  :  320 

Tumultuous  grandeur  crowds  the  blazing  square, 

The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 

Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy ! 

Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy ! 

Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ?     Ah,  turn  thine  eyes  325 

Where  the  poor  houseless,  shivering  female  lies. 

She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blessed, 

Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distressed  ; 

Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 

Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn  :  330 

Now  lost  to  all  ;  her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 

Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head, 

And,  pinched  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour, 

W7hen  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town,  335 

She  left  her  wheel  and  robes  of  country  brown. 

Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn, — thine,  the  loveliest  train, — 
Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain  ? 
Even  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led, 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread !  340 

Ah,  no  !     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene, 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between, 
Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe. 
Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmed  before  345 

The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore ; 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray, 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day ; 


344.  Altama,  the  river  Altamaha  in 
Georgia.  The  grant  of  land 
obtained  by  Oglethorpe  and 
the  "Trustees"  was  between 
the  Altamaha  and  Savannah 
rivers.  The  first  settlement 
was  made  in  1732.  Bancroft 

15 


mentions  a  settlement  made  on 
the  Altamaha,  near  Darien,  by 
some  Scotch  Highlanders. 
Goldsmith's  geography  of 
Georgia — its  "  various  terrors," 
"  crouching  tigers,"  etc.  —  will 
amuse  the  19th-century  student. 


226  GOLDSMITH. 

Those  matted  woods,  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 

But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling ;  350 

Those  poisonous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned, 

Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around ; 

Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 

The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake  ; 

Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey,  355 

And  savage  men  more  murderous  still  than  they ; 

While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies, 

Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies. 

Far  different  these  from  every  former  scene — 

The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vested  green,  360 

The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove, 

That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

Good  Heaven  !  what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting  day, 
That  called  them  from  their  native  walks  away ; 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past,  365 

Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main, 
And,  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
Returned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep !  37° 

The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepared  to  go 
To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe ; 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wished  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 
His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears,  375 

The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms, 
And  left  a  lover's  for  a  father's  arms. 
With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes, 
And  blessed  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose,  38° 

And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear, 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear, 
W7hilst  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 


368.  seats,  sites,  localities. 


THE  DESERTED    VILLAGE. 


227 


O  Luxury  !  thou  cursed  by  Heaven's  decree,  385 

How  ill  exchanged  are  things  like  these  for  thee ! 
How  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy, 
Diffuse  their  pleasure  only  to  destroy ! 
Kingdoms  by  thee  to  sickly  greatness  grown 
Boast  of  a  florid  vigor  not  their  own  •  390 

At  every  draught  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 
A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  woe ; 
Till  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound. 
Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin  round. 

Even  now  the  devastation  is  begun,  395 

And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done  ; 
Even  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand, 
I  see  the  rural  Virtues  leave  the  land. 
Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail, 
That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale,  400 

Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band, 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 
Contented  Toil,  and  hospitable  Care. 
And  kind  connubial  Tenderness,  are  there ; 
And  Piety  with  wishes  placed  above,  405 

And  steady  Loyalty,  and  faithful  Love. 
And  thou,  sweet  Poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid, 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade ; 
Unfit  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame 
To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame ;  410 

Dear  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 
My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride  ; 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss  and  all  my  woe, 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  first  and  keep'st  me  so ; 
Thou  guide  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel,  115 

Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue,  fare  thee  well ! 


399.  anchoring  =  lying  at  anchor. 

402.  strand,  beach. 

413.  Thou  source  .  .  .  woe.  Compare 
Wither's  fine  lines  to  his 
Muse,  in  his  poem  of  The 
ShephercPs  Hunting  (quoted 
by  Hales) : 


'  And  though  for  her  sake  I'm  crost. 
Though  my  best  hopes  I  have  lost, 
And  knew  she  would  make  me  trouble, 
Ten  times  more  than  ten  times  double, 
I  should  love  and  keep  her  too 
Spite  of  all  the  world  could  do.  ... 
She  doth  tell  me  where  to  borrow 
Comfort  In  the  midst  of  sorrow, 
Makes  the  deaolatest  place 
To  her  presence  b«  a  grace,"  etc. 


228 


GOLDSMITH. 


Farewell,  and  oh !  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torno's  cliffs  or  Pambamarca's  side, 
Whether  where  equinoctial  fervors  glow, 
Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow, 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time, 
Redress  the  rigors  of  the  inclement  clime ; 
Aid  slighted  truth  with  thy  persuasive  strain ; 
Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain ; 
Teach  him  that  states  of  native  strength  possessed, 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blessed  -, 
That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay, 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  labored  mole  away  ; 
While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky. 


420 


425 


418.  Torno's  cliffs.  The  poet  probably 
has  reference  to  the  heights 
around  Lake  Torneo,  in  the  ex- 
treme north  of  Sweden. — Para- 
bamarca's  side.  Pambamarca  is 


a  mountain  in  South  America 
near  Quito. 

422.  Redress  .  .  .  clime.  Compare 
Gray's  Progress  of  Poesy,  page 
207,  lines  54-62,  of  this  book. 


XIV. 

EDMUND    BURKE. 

1729-1797. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  HAZLITT. 

i.  There  is  no  single  speech  of  Burke  which  can  convey  a  satis- 
factory idea  of  his  powers  of  mind.  To  do  him  justice,  it  would 
be  necessary  to  quote  all  his  works :  the  only  specimen  of  Burke 
is,  all  he  wrote.  With  respect  to  most  other  speakers,  a  specimen 


230  BURKE. 

is  generally  enough,  or  more  than  enough.  When  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  their  manner,  and  see  what  proficiency  they  have 
made  in  the  mechanical  exercise  of  their  profession,  with  what 
facility  they  can  borrow  a  simile  or  round  a  period,  how  dex- 
terously they  can  argue  and  object  and  rejoin,  you  are  satisfied  ; 
there  is  no  other  difference  in  their  speeches  than  what  arises 
from  the  difference  of  the  subjects.  But  this  was  not  the  case 
with  Burke.  He  brought  his  subjects  along  with  him ;  he  drew 
his  materials  from  himself.  The  only  limits  which  circumscribed 
his  variety  were  the  stores  of  his  own  mind.  His  stock  of  ideas 
did  not  consist  of  a  few  meagre  facts,  meagrely  stated,  of  half  a 
dozen  commonplaces  tortured  in  a  thousand  different  ways ;  but 
his  mine  of  wealth  was  a  profound  understanding,  inexhaustible 
as  the  human  heart  and  various  as  the  sources  of  human  nature. 
He  therefore  enriched  every  subject  to  which  he  applied  him- 
self, and  new  subjects  were  only  the  occasions  of  calling  forth 
fresh  powers  of  mind  which  had  not  been  before  exerted. 

2.  Burke  was  so  far  from  being  a  gaudy  or  flowery  writer  that 
he  was  one  of  the  severest  writers.  His  words  are  the  most  like 
things ;  his  style  is  the  most  strictly  suited  to  the  subject.  .  He 
unites  every  extreme  and  every  variety  of  composition ;  the  low- 
est and  the  meanest  words  and  descriptions  with  the  highest. 
He  exults  in  the  display  of  power,  in  showing  the  extent,  the 
force,  and  intensity  of  his  ideas ;  he  is  led  on  by  the  mere  im- 
pulse and  vehemence  of  his  fancy,  not  by  the  affectation  of  daz- 
zling his  readers  by  gaudy  conceits  or  pompous  images.  He  was 
completely  carried  away  by  his  subject.  He  had  no  other  object 
but  to  produce  the  strongest  impression  on  his  reader,  by  giving 
the  truest,  the  most  characteristic,  the  fullest,  and  most  forcible 
description  of  things,  trusting  to  the  power  of  his  own  mind  to 
mould  them  into  grace  and  beauty.  He  did  not  produce  a  splen- 
did effect  by  setting  fire  to  the  light  vapors  that  float  in  the  re- 
gions of  fancy,  as  the  chemists  make  fine  colors  with  phosphorus, 
but  by  the  eagerness  of  his  blows  struck  fire  from  the  flint,  and 
melted  the  hardest  substances  in  the  furnace  of  his  imagination. 
The  wheels  of  his  imagination  did  not  catch  fire  from  the  rotten- 
ness of  the  materials,  but  from  the  rapidity  of  their  motion.  He 
most  frequently  produced  an  effect  by  the  remoteness  and  nov- 
elty of  his  combinations,  by  the  force  of  contrast,  by  the  striking 


HAZLITT'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  BURKE.         231 

manner  in  which  the  most  opposite  and  unpromising  materials 
were  harmoniously  blended  together ;  not  by  laying  his  hands 
on  all  the  fine  things  he  coulcl  think  of,  but  by  bringing  together 
those  things  which  he  knew  would  blaze  out  into  glorious  light 
by  their  collision.  The  florid  style  is  a  mixture  of  affectation 
and  commonplace.  Burke's  was  a  union  of  untamable  vigor 
and  originality. 

3.  Burke  was  not  a  verbose  writer.    If  he  sometimes  multiplies 
words,  it  is  not  for  want  of  ideas,  but  because  there  are  no  words 
that  fully  express  his  ideas,  and  he  tries  to  do  it  as  well  as  he 
can  by  different  ones.    He  had  nothing  of  the  set  or  formal  style, 
the  measured  cadence,  and  stately  phraseology  of  Johnson  and 
most  of  our  modern  writers.     This  style,  which  is  what  we  un- 
derstand by  the  artificial,  is  all  in  one  key.     It  selects  a  certain 
set  of  words  to  represent  all  ideas  whatever  as  the  most  dignified 
and  eloquent,  and  excludes  all  others  as  low  and  vulgar.     The 
words  are  not  fitted  to  the  things,  but  the  things  to  the  words. 

4.  Burke  was  altogether  free  from  the  pedantry  which  I  have 
here  endeavored  to  expose.    His  style  was  as  original  as  expres- 
sive, as  rich   and  varied  as  it  was  possible ;  his  combinations 
were  as  exquisite,  as  playful,  as  happy,  as  unexpected,  as  bold  and 
daring  as  his  fancy.     If  anything,  he  ran  into  the  opposite  ex- 
treme of  too  great  an  inequality,  if  truth  and  nature  could  ever 
be  carried  to  an  extreme. 

5.  Burke  has  been  compared  to  Cicero — I  do  not  know  for 
what  reason.     Their  excellences  are  as  different,  and  indeed  as 
opposite,  as  they  can  well  be.     Burke  had  not  the  polished  ele- 
gance, the  glossy  neatness,  the  artful  regularity,  the  exquisite 
modulation,  of  Cicero ;  he  had  a  thousand  times  more  richness 
and  originality  of  mind,  more  strength  and  pomp  of  diction. 


232 


BURKE. 


I.— LORD  CHATHAM. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extract  is  from  Burke's  speech  on  Ameri* 
can  Taxation,  delivered  in  the  House  of  Commons  in  1774.  It  was  made  in  sup- 
port of  a  motion  (introduced  April  19,  1774)  that  "the  House  take  into  consid- 
eration the  duty  of  threepence  per  pound  on  tea,  payable  in  all  his  Majesty's 
dominions  in  America,"  with  a  view  to  repealing  the  same.  In  the  course  of 
his  long  speech,  Burke  reviews  the  policy  of  several  successive  British  minis- 
tries in  their  conduct  towards  the  Anglo-American  colonies,  and  the  extract 
begins  with  his  characterization  of  Lord  Chatham  (William  Pitt),  who  became 
prime  minister  in  1766.] 

i.  I  have  done  with  the  third  period  of  your  policy — that  of 
your  repeal  and  the  return  of  your  ancient  system  and  your 
ancient  tranquillity  and  concord.  Sir,  this  period  was  not  as  long 
as  it  was  happy.  Another  scene  was  opened,  and  other  actors 
appeared  on  the  stage.  The  state,  in  the  condition  I  have  de- 
scribed it,  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of  Lord  Chatham — a 
great  and  celebrated  name ;  a  name  that  keeps  the  name  of  this 


NOTES.  —  Line  i.  the  third  period. 
Burke  had  reviewed  the  com- 
mercial policy  of  Great  Britain 
towards  the  American  colonies 
as  it  had  appeared  in  three  pe- 
riods— i,  the  period  of  the  Nav- 
igation Acts  ;  2,  that  of  the  at- 
tempts to  raise  revenue  from 
America ;  and  3,  that  of  the  re- 
peal of  the  Stamp  Act. 

2.  your  repeal.  The  Stamp  Act  (for 
the  provisions  of  which  see 


United  States  History)  was 
passed  by  Parliament  in  1765  ; 
but  owing  to  the  vigorous  op- 
position of  the  colonies,  ex- 
pressed through  the  First  Colo- 
nial Congress  and  supported  by 
the  eloquence  of  those  illustri- 
ous friends  of  America,  Burke 
and  Chatham,  the  Act  was  re- 
pealed in  the  following  year 
(1766),  Lord  Chatham  becom- 
ing then  prime  minister. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — What  are  the  distinguishing  qualities  of  Burke's 
style  ?     Ans.  They  are  sublimity  of  thought  and  splendor  of  imagery. 

3,  4.  not  as  long  as  it  was  happy.    Change  this  from  the  negative  to  the  posi- 
tive form  of  statement. 

4,  5.  Another  scene  .  .  .  stage.     What  are  the  two  figures  of  speech  in  this 
sentence  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

5,  6.  in  the  condition  I  hare  described  it.     Supply  the  ellipsis, 

7.  that  keeps  the  name,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  34.) 


LORD   CHATHAM. 


233 


country  respectable  in  every  other  on  the  globe.     It  may  be 
truly  called,  „  Clarum  et  veuerabile  nomen 

Gentibus,  multum  et  nostrae  quod  proderat  urbi." 
2.  Sir,  the  venerable  age  of  this  great  man,  his  merited  rank, 
his  superior  eloquence,  his  splendid  qualities,  his  eminent  ser- 
vices, the  vast  space  he  fills  in  the  eye  of  mankind;  and,  more 
than  all  the  rest,  his  fall  from  power — which,  like  death,  canon-  iS 
izes  *  and  sanctifies  *  a  great  character — will  not  suffer  me  to  cen- 
sure any  part  of  his  conduct.     I  am  afraid  to  flatter  him ;  I  am 
sure  I  am  not  disposed  to  blame  him.     Let  those  who  have  be- 
trayed him  by  their  adulation  insult  him  with  their  malevolence. 
But  what  I  do  not  presume  to  censure  I  may  have  leave  to  la-  20 
ment.     For  a  wise  man  he  seemed  to  me  at  that  time  to  be  gov- 
erned too  much  by  general  maxims.     I  speak  with  the  freedom 
of  history,  and,  I  hope,  without  offence.     One  or  two  of  these 
maxims,  flowing  from  an  opinion  not  the  most  indulgent  to  our 


12-15. 


IO,  II.  Clarum  et  veuerabile  nomen,  etc. 
From  the  Latin  poet  Lucan : 
"A  name  venerable  and  illus- 
trious to  all  nations,  and  which 
greatly  advantaged  our  city." 
the  venerable  age  .  .  .  fall  from 
power.  William  Pitt,  first  Earl 
of  Chatham,  was  born  in  1708, 
and  at  the  time  Burke  delivered 
his  speech  was  sixty-six  years 
of  age  ;  he  died  four  years  after- 
wards, in  1778. — In  explanation 
of  the  expression  "his  merited 
rank,"  it  may  be  stated  that 
when  he  became  prime  minister 
in  1766,  he  was  created  Earl 


of  Chatham.  —  "  His  fall  from 
power"  took  place  in  1768, 
when  he  resigned  office,  though 
in  the  House  of  Lords  he  con- 
tinued to  do  magnificent  service 
in  the  cause  of  American  liber- 
ty- 

24.  maxims  .  .  .  not  the  most  indulgent, 
etc.  "  He  made  far  too  little 
distinction  between  gangs  of 
knaves,  associated  for  the  mere 
purpose  of  robbing  the  public, 
and  confederacies  of  honorable 
men  for  the  promotion  of  great 
public  objects." — MACAULAY  : 
Essay  on  Chatham. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 12-17.  Sir,  the  venerable  .  .  .  conduct.  What  is  the 
figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  33.) — What  kind  of  sentence  is  this,  grammatical* 
iy  and  rhetorically  ? 

15,  16.  What  is  the  derivation  of  "  canonizes  ?"     Of  "  sanctifies  ?" 

17,  18.  I  am  afraid  .  .  .  him.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  18.) 

18,  19.  Let  those  .  .  ,,  malevolence.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

20,  21.  censure  .  .  .  lament.  What  is  the  distinction  between  to  "censure" 
and  to  "  lament  ?" 

24,  25.  our  unhappy  species.     Translate  into  a  plain  term. 


234 


BURKE. 


unhappy  species,  and  surely  a  little  too  general,  led  him  into  25 
measures  that  were  greatly  mischievous  to  himself,  and  for  that 
reason,  among  others,  perhaps  fatal  to  his  country — measures  the 
effects  of  which,  I  am  afraid,  are  forever  incurable. 

3.   He  made  an  administration  so  checkered  and  speckled,  he 
put  together  a  piece  of  joinery  so  crossly  indented  and  whimsi-  30 
cally  dovetailed,  a  cabinet  so  variously  inlaid,  such  a  piece  of  di- 
versified mosaic,*  such  a  tessellated  pavement  without  cement — 
here  a  bit  of  black  stone  and  there  a  bit  of  white,  patriots  and 
courtiers,  king's   friends    and    republicans,  Whigs    and    Tories, 
treacherous  friends  and  open  enemies  —  that  it  was,  indeed,  ass 
very  curious  show,  but  utterly  unsafe  to  touch  and  unsure  to 
stand  on.     The  colleagues  whom  he  had  assorted  at  the  same 
boards  stared  at  each  other,  and  were  obliged  to  ask,  "  Sir,  your 
name  ?" — "  Sir,  you  have  the  advantage  of  me." — "  Mr.  Such-a- 
one." — "  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons."     I  venture  to  say,  it  did  so  40 
happen  that  persons  had  a  single  office  divided  between  them 
who  had  never  spoken  to  each  other  in  their  lives  until  they 


30.  joinery,  the  work   of  a  joiner,  or 

cabinet-maker. 

31.  variously  inlaid  =  inlaid  with  vari- 

ous kinds  of  wood. 

32.  mosaic,  inlaid  work  in  which  the 

effect  of  painting  is  produced 
by  the  combination  of  pieces  of 
colored  stone,  etc. — tessellated, 
laid  with  checkered  work. 


34.  king's  friends.  This  name  now  be- 
gan to  be  applied  to  the  persons 
who  supported  King  George 
III.  in  his  despotic  policy  tow- 
ards America. 

38.  boards,  the  tables  around  which  the 
members  of  the  cabinet  assem- 
bled for  consultation  on  public 
affairs. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 28.  incurable.  Is  the  word  here  used  in  the  literal 
or  the  figurative  sense  ? 

29-37.  He  made  .  . .  stand  on.  This  passage  has  been  called  a  specimen  of 
"  dictionary  eloquence,"  and  it  has  been  censured  for  its  violation  of  the  canon 
against  mixed  metaphors.  (See  Def.  20,  iii.)  But  both  criticisms  are  pedan- 
tic :  it  was,  on  the  contrary,  a  fine  piece  of  rhetorical  art  in  Burke  to  construct 
a  piece  of  imagery  as  curiously  complex  as  that  "  piece  of  joinery,"  Lord* 
Chatham's  cabinet.  The  thought  is  marvellously  inlaid  in  the  "tessellated 
pavement "  of  Burke's  figures. 


LORD   CHATHAM. 


235 


found  themselves,  they  knew  not  how,  pigging  together,  heads 
and  points,  in  the  same  truckle-bed. 

4.  Sir,  in  consequence  of  this  arrangement,  having  put  so  much  45 
the  larger  part  of  his  enemies  and  opposers  into  power,  the  con- 
fusion was  such  that  his  own  principles  could  not  possibly  have 
any  effect  or  influence  in  the  conduct  of  affairs.     If  ever  he  fell 
into  a  fit  of  the  gout,  or  if  any  other  cause  withdrew  him  from 
public  cares,  principles  directly  the  contrary  were  sure  to  pre-  & 
dominate.     When  he  had  executed  his  plan,  he  had  not  an  inch 
of  ground  to   stand    upon.     When   he  had  accomplished  his 
scheme  of  administration,  he  was  no  longer  minister. 

5.  When  his  face  was  hid  but  for  a  moment,  his  whole  system 
was  on  a  wide  sea  without  chart  or  compass.     The  gentlemen,  55 
his  particular  friends,  who,  with  the  names  of  various  depart- 
ments of  ministry,  were  admitted  to  seem  as  if  they  acted  a  part 
under  him,  with  a  modesty  that  becomes  all  men,  and  with  a  con- 
fidence in  him  which  was  justified  even  in  its  extravagance  by 
his  superior  abilities,  had  never  in  any  instance  presumed  upon  6c 
any  opinion  of  their  own.     Deprived  of  his  guiding  influence, 
they  were  whirled  about,  the  sport  of  every  gust,  and  easily  driv- 
en into  any  port;  and  as  those  who  joined  with  them  in  manning 
the  vessel  were  the  most  directly  opposite  to  his  opinions,  meas- 


43, 44.  heads  and  points,  in  the  same 
truckle-bed.  A  handful  of  pins 
shaken  together  will  be  found 
to  have  heads  and  points  con- 
fused :  in  like  manner  two  per- 
sons get  more  space  in  a  nar- 
row bed  (truckle-bed  =  a  nar- 
row bed  that  runs  on  wheels 


under  another)  by  lying,  pig- 
fashion,  opposite  ways. 

49.  gout.  Chatham  was  from  child- 
hood tormented  by  the  gout, 
and  after  1768  it  afflicted  him 
so  severely  that  he  seldom  ap- 
peared in  public. 

54.  When  his  face,  etc.  See  Isaiah  liv.,  8. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 43.  pigging  together.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
(See  Def.  20.) 

51-53.  When  he  had  . . .  minister.  Observe  how,  by  the  double  statement, 
the  thought  is  enforced. 

54,  55.  his  whole  system  .  .  .  compass.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See 
Def.  20.) 

61-68.  Deprived .  .  .  policy.  To  what  image  in  the  first  part  of  this  para- 
graph does  the  author  here  recur  ? — What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See 
Def.  20.) 


236 


BURKE. 


ures,  and  character,  and  far  the  most  artful  and  most  powerful  of  6S 
the  set,  they  easily  prevailed,  so  as  to  seize  upon  the  vacant,  un- 
occupied, and  derelict  minds  of  his  friends ;  and  instantly  they 
turned  the  vessel  wholly  out  of  the  course  of  his  policy.     As  if 
it  were  to  insult  as  well  as  to  betray  him,  even  long  before  the 
close  of  the  first  session  of  his  administration,  when  everything  7° 
was  publicly  transacted,  and  with  great  parade,  in  his  name,  they 
made  an  act  declaring  it  highly  just  and  expedient  to  raise  a 
revenue  in  America.     For  even  then,  sir,  even  before  this  splen- 
did orb  was  entirely  set,  and  while  the  western  horizon  was  in  a 
blaze  with  his  descending  glory,  on  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  75 
heavens  arose  another  luminary,  and,  for  his  hour,  became  lord 
of  the  ascendant. 


72,  73.  an  act  declaring,  etc.  All  the 
good  effect  of  the  repeal  of  the 
Stamp  Act  in  1766  was  undone 
in  1767  by  Parliament's  de- 
claring it  expedient  to  raise  a 
revenue  in  America  and  impos- 
ing a  tax  on  the  importation  into 
the  colonies  of  tea,  paints,  pa- 
per, glass,  and  lead.  This 
scheme  was  carried  in  Parlia- 
ment through  the  influence  of 
Charles  Townshend  (the  "other 
luminary"  referred  to  below, 
line  76),  who  held  the  place  of 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  in 


Chatham's  ministry.  "  He  was," 
says  Hildreth  (History  of  the 
United  States,  First  Series,  vol. 
ii.,  p.  538),  "  a  man  of  brilliant 
parts,  but  without  any  settled 
principles." 

73,  74.  this  splendid  orb :  that  is,  Lord 
Chatham. 

76,  77.  lord  of  the  ascendant.  In  the 
astrological  theories  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  the  "  lord  of  the  as- 
cendant" was  that  planet  or 
star  that  was  supposed  to  rule 
the  destiny  of  a  person  or  na- 
tion. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 73-77.  For  even  then,  sir,  etc.  What  is  the  figure 
of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  20.) — This  passage  is  acknowledged  to  contain  the  most 
gorgeous  image  in  modern  oratory.  It  should  be  committed  to  memory  by 
the  pupil. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY  IN  AMERICA. 


237 


II.— THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY  IN  THE  AMERICAN  COLONIES. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extract  is  from  Burke's  speech  on  Concilia- 
tion with  America,  perhaps  his  most  finished  oration.  It  was  delivered  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  March  22,  1775.  Burke's  plan  of  conciliation  was  to  ad- 
mit the  Americans  "  to  an  equal  interest  in  the  British  constitution,  and  place 
them  at  once  on  the  footing  of  Englishmen."  The  passage  here  given  is  that 
part  of  the  speech  devoted  to  the  analysis  of  the  temper  of  the  Americans  as 
exhibited  in  their  sturdy  resistance  to  taxation.] 

1.  These,  sir,  are  my  reasons  for  not  entertaining  that  high 
opinion  of  untried  force  by  which  many  gentlemen,  for  whose 
sentiments  in  other  particulars  I  have  great  respect,  seem  to  be 
so  greatly  captivated.     But  there  is  still  behind  a  third  consider- 
ation concerning  this  object,  which  serves  to  determine  my  opin-  s 
ion  on  the  sort  of  policy  which  ought  to  be  pursued  in  the  man- 
agement of  America,  even  more  than  its  population   and  its 
commerce, — I  mean  its  temper  and  character. 

2.  In  this  character  of  the  Americans,  a  love  of  freedom  is  the 
predominating  feature  which  marks  and  distinguishes  the  whole  ;  10 
and  as  an  ardent  is  always  a  jealous  affection,  your  colonies  be- 
come suspicious,  restive,  and  untractable  whenever  they  see  the 
least  attempt  to  wrest  from  them  by  force,  or  shuffle  from  them 
by  chicane,  what  they  think  the  only  advantage  worth  living  for. 
This  fierce  spirit  of  liberty  is  stronger  in  the  English  colonies  15 
probably  than  in  any  other  people  of  the  earth;  and  this  from 

a  great  variety  of  powerful  causes ;  which  to  understand  the  true 
temper  of  their  minds,  and  the  direction  which  this  spirit  takes, 
it  will  not  be  amiss  to  lay  open  somewhat  more  largely. 

3.  First,  the  people  of  the  colonies  are  descendants  of  English-  20 
men.     England,  sir,  is  a  nation  which  still,  I  hope,  respects,  and 
formerly  adored,  her  freedom.     The  colonists  emigrated  from 


NOTES. — I.  These,  sir,  are  my  reasons. 

Burke,  at  this  point  of  his  ora- 
tion, has  just  summed  up  its 
preceding  part  by  the  statement 
of  four  definite  reasons  why 
military  force  should  not  be 
employed  to  coerce  the  colo- 
nies. 


22,  23.  emigrated  from  yon  when,  etc. 
The  New  England  colonies 
had  their  origin  in  the  time  of 
the  great  struggle  against  the 
Stuarts  (namely,  James  I.  and 
Charles  I.),  when  the  spirit  of 
civil  liberty  was  peculiarly  ac- 
tive in  England. 


BURKE. 


you  when  this  part  of  your  character  was  most  predominant  ; 
and  they  took  this  bias  and  direction  the  moment  they  parted 
from  your  hands.  They  are  therefore  not  only  devoted  to  lib-  25 
erty,  but  to  liberty  according  to  English  ideas  and  on  English 
principles.  Abstract  liberty,  like  other  mere  abstractions,  is  not 
to  be  found.  Liberty  inheres  in  some  sensible  object  ;  and  ev- 
ery nation  has  formed  to  itself  some  favorite  point  which,  by 
way  of  eminence,  becomes  the  criterion  of  their  happiness.  It  3° 
happened,  you  know,  sir,  that  the  great  contests  for  freedom  in 
this  country  were  from  the  earliest  times  chiefly  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  taxing.  Most  of  the  contests  in  the  ancient  common- 
wealths turned  primarily  on  the  right  of  election  of  magistrates, 
or  on  the  balance  among  the  several  orders  of  the  state.  The  35 
question  of  money  was  not  with  them  so  immediate.  But  in 
England  it  was  otherwise.  On  this  point  of  taxes  the  ablest 
pens  and  most  eloquent  tongues  have  been  exercised  ;  the 
greatest  spirits  have  acted  and  suffered.  In  order  to  give  the 
fullest  satisfaction  concerning  the  importance  of  this  point,  it  40 
was  not  only  necessary  for  those  who  in  argument  defended  the 
excellence  of  the  English  Constitution  to  insist  on  this  privilege 
of  granting  money  as  a  dry  point  of  fact,  and  to  prove  that  the 
right  had  been  acknowledged,  in  ancient  parchments  and  blind 
usages,  to  reside  in  a  certain  body  called  a  House  of  Com-  45 
mons.  They  went  much  further  ;  they  attempted  to  prove,  and 
they  succeeded,  that  in  theory  it  ought  to  be  so,  from  the  par- 
ticular nature  of  a  House  of  Commons,  as  an  immediate  repre- 
sentative of  the  people  ;  whether  the  old  records  had  delivered 


28.  Liberty  inheres  in  seme  sensible  ob- 
ject: that  is,  embodies  itself  in 
some  concrete  form,  and  is  not 
contended  for  as  an  abstraction, 
but  is  made  the  issue  in  some 
particular  causes,  as  in  the  right 
of  taxing,  etc. 

30.  their  happiness.  A  confusion  of 
number  will  be  noticed:  "their" 
should  be  its,  if"  has  "  and  "  itsel  f " 
are  correct.  Burke  is,  however, 
an  uncommonly  accurate  writer. 

33>  34-  h*   the   ancient   commonwealths : 


that  is,  in  Greece  and  Rome — 
notably  in  Rome. 

37,  38.  the  ablest  pens  and  most  eloquent 
tongues.  The  reference  is  to 
such  men  as  Hampden,  Pym, 
and  Selden. 

44.  ancient  parchments,  etc.  Especial- 
ly the  "  Charter  of  Liberties,"  or 
"Great  Charta"  (Magna  Char- 
to),  granted  by  King  John  in 
1215,  and  thirty  times  confirmed. 
— blind  usages,  custom,  as  con- 
trasted with  written  law. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY  IN  AMERICA. 


239 


this  oracle  or  not.     They  took  infinite  pains  to  inculcate,  as  a  sc 
fundamental  principle,  that  in  all  monarchies  the  people  must  in 
effect  themselves,  mediately  or  immediately,  possess  the  power 
of  granting  their  own  money,  or  no  shadow  of  liberty  could  sub- 
sist.    The  colonies  draw  from  you,  as  with  their  life-blood,  these 
ideas  and  principles.     Their  love  of  liberty,  as  with  you,  fixed  55 
and  attached  on  this  specific  point  of  taxing.     Liberty  might  be 
safe,  or  might  be  endangered,  in  twenty  other  particulars,  with- 
out their  being  much  pleased  or  alarmed.     Here  they  felt  its 
pulse  j   and  as  they  found  that  beat,  they  thought  themselves 
sick  or  sound.     I  do  not  say  whether  they  were  right  or  wrong  60 
in  applying  your  general  arguments  to  their  own  case.     It  is  not 
easy,  indeed,  to  make  a  monopoly  of  thecrems  and  corollaries. 
The  fact  is  that  they  did  thus  apply  those  general  arguments  \ 
and  your  mode  of  governing  them,  whether  through  lenity  or  in- 
dolence, through  wisdom  or  mistake,  confirmed  them   in   the  65 
imagination  that  they,  as  well  as  you,  had  an  interest  in  these 
common  principles. 

4.  They  were  further  confirmed  in  this  pleasing  error  by  the 
form  of  their  provincial  legislative  assemblies.     Their  govern- 
ments are  popular  in  a  high  degree  ;  some  are  merely  popular  ;  7° 
in  all,  the  popular  representative  is  the  most  weighty  ;  and  this 
share  of  the  people  in  their  ordinary  government  never  fails  to 
inspire  them  with  lofty  sentiments,  and  with  a  strong  aversion 
from  whatever  tends  to  deprive  them  of  their  chief  importance. 

5.  If  anything  were  wanting  to  this  necessary  operation  of  the  75 
form  of  government,  religion  would  have  given  it  a  complete  ef- 
fect.    Religion,  always  a  principle  of  energy,  in  this  new  people 


50.  this  oracle,  this  truth. 

69,  70.  Their   governments   are   popular. 

A  popular  government  is  one 
in  which  the  legislative  func- 
tions are  exercised  by  the  peo- 
ple.— merely  popular  =  entirely, 
purely  popular.  This  was  the 
case  with  New  England,  which 
indeed  was  an  aggregate  of  pure 
democracies.  (See  De  Tocque- 
ville's  Democracy  in  America, 


vol.  i.)  Other  of  the  colonies 
were  not  so  purely  popular, 
some  being  proprietary  govern- 
ments (as  Pennsylvania  and 
Maryland),  and  others  royal 
provinces  (as  Virginia  and  the 
Carolinas). 

73,  74.  arersion  from.  This  is  etymo- 
logically  better  than  our  mod- 
ern " aversion  to,"  since  "from  " 
expresses  the  force  of  a. 


24o  BURKE. 

is  no  way  worn  out  or  impaired ;  and  their  mode  of  professing  it 
is  also  one  main  cause  of  this  free  spirit.     The  people  are  Prot- 
estants, and  of  that  kind  which  is  the  most  adverse  to  all  im-  80 
plicit  submission  of  mind  and  opinion.    This  is  a  persuasion  not 
only  favorable  to  liberty,  but  built  upon  it.     I  do  not  think,  sir, 
that  the  reason  of  this  averseness  in  the  dissenting  churches 
from  all  that  looks  like  absolute  government  is  so  much  to  be 
sought  in  their  religious  tenets   as  in  their  history.     Every  one  85 
knows  that  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  is  at  least  coeval  with 
most  of  the  governments  where  it  prevails  ;  that  it  has  generally 
gone  hand  in  hand  with  them,  and  received  great  favor  and  ev- 
ery kind  of  support  from  authority.    The  Church  of  England,  too, 
was  formed  from  her  cradle  under  the  nursing  care  of  regular  90 
government.     But  the  dissenting  interests  have  sprung  up  in  di- 
rect opposition  to  all  the  ordinary  powers  of  the  world,  and 
could  justify  that  opposition  only  on  a  strong  claim  to  natural 
liberty.     Their  very  existence  depended  on  the  powerful  and  un- 
remitted  assertion  of  that  claim.     All  Protestantism",  even  the  95 
most  cold  and  passive,  is  a  sort  of  dissent.     But  the  religion 
most  prevalent  in  our  Northern  colonies  is  a  refinement  of  the 
principle  of  resistance ;  it  is  the  dissidence  *  of  dissent,  and  the 
Protestantism  of  the  Protestant  religion.     This  religion,  under  a 
variety  of  denominations,  agreeing  in  nothing  but  in  the  com-  too 
munion  of  the  spirit  of  liberty,  is  predominant  in  most  of  the 
Northern   provinces,  where   the    Church  of   England,  notwith- 
standing its  legal  rights,  is  in  reality  no  more  than  a  sort  of  pri- 
vate sect,  not  composing,  most  probably,  the  tenth  of  the  people. 
The  colonists  left  England  when  this  spirit  was  high,  and  in  the  105 
emigrants  was  the  highest  of  all  ;  and  even  that  stream  of  for- 
eigners, which  has  been  constantly  flowing  into  these  colonies, 
has,  for  the  greatest  part,  been  composed  of  dissenters  from  the 
establishments  of  their  several  countries,  and  have  brought  with 
them  a  temper  and  character  far  from  alien  to  that  of  the  people  no 
with  whom  they  mixed. 

6.  Sir,  I  can  perceive  by  their  manner  that  some  gentlemen 
object  to  the  latitude  of  this  description  ;  because  in  the  South  - 


80.  of  that  kind,  etc.  :  that  is,  Presby-  I    83.  arerseness  =  aversion, 
terians,  Puritans,  etc.  I  109.  hare.     Supply  who. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY  IN  AMERICA. 


241 


ern  colonies  the  Church  of  England  forms  a  large  body,  and 
has  a  regular  establishment.     It  is  certainly  true.     There  is,  us 
however,  a  circumstance  attending  these  colonies  which,  in  my 
opinion,  fully  counterbalances  this   difference,  and   makes  the 
spirit  of  liberty  still  more  high  and  haughty  than  in  those  to  the 
northward.     It  is,  that  in  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas  they  have 
a  vast  multitude  of  slaves.     Where  this  is  the  case  in  any  part  120 
of  the  world,  those  who  are  free  are  by  far  the  most  proud  and 
jealous  of  their  freedom.     Freedom  is  to  them  not  only  an  en- 
joyment, but  a  kind  of  rank  and  privilege.     Not  seeing  there 
that  freedom,  as  in  countries  where  it  is  a  common  blessing,  and 
as  broad  and  general  as  the  air,  may  be  united  with  much  abject  125 
toil,  with  great  misery,  with  all  the  exterior  of  servitude,  liberty 
looks,  among  them,  like  something  that  is  more  noble  and  liber- 
al.   I  do  not  mean,  sir,  to  commend  the  superior  morality  of  this 
sentiment,  which  has  at  least  as  much  pride  as  virtue  in  it ;  but 
I  cannot  alter  the  nature  of  man.     The  fact  is  so ;  and  these  130 
people  of  the   Southern  colonies  are  much  more  strongly,  and 
with  a  higher  and  more  stubborn  spirit,  attached  to  liberty  than 
those  to  the  northward.     Such  were  all  the  ancient  common- 
wealths ;  such  were  our  Gothic  ancestors ;  such  in  our  days  were 
the  Poles ;  and  such  will  be  all  masters  of  slaves,  who  are  not  135 
slaves  themselves.     In  such  a  people,  the  haughtiness  of  domi- 
nation combines  with  the  spirit  of  freedom,  fortifies  it,  and  ren- 
ders it  invincible. 

7.  Permit  me,  sir,  to  add  another  circumstance  in  our  colonies 
which  contributes  no  mean  part  towards  the  growth  and  effect  140 
of  this  untractable  spirit.     I  mean  their  education.     In  no  coun- 
try perhaps  in  the  world  is  the  law  so  general  a  study.     The 


125.  as    broad    and  general    as  the    air. 

"As  broad  and  general  as  the 
casing  air."  —  SHAKESPEARE  : 
Macbeth. 

134.  Gothic.  Incorrect,  unless  "  Goth- 
ic "  be  used  in  the  widest  sense, 
as  synonymous  with  Teutonic. 
The  forefathers  of  the  people 
of  England  belonged  to  the 
Low-Dutch  branch  of  the  Ger- 
manic or  Teutonic  family. 

16 


X34»  r35-  were  the  Poles :  that  is,  till 
1 772,  when,  to  quote  Campbell's 
familiar  line, 

"  Freedom  shrieked  aa  Kogciusko  fell." 

142.  Is  the  law  so  general  a  study.  This 
is  an  extremely  interesting  and 
important  fact,  and  one  of  which 
our  historians  (Bancroft,  Hil- 
dreth,  and  others)  have  not 
taken  sufficient  note. 


242 


BURKE. 


profession  itself  is  numerous  and  powerful ;  and  in  most  prov- 
inces it  takes  the  lead.  The  greater  number  of  the  Deputies 
sent  to  the  Congress  were  lawyers.  But  all  who  read  (and  most  145 
do  read)  endeavor  to  obtain  some  smattering  in  that  science.  I 
have  been  told  by  an  eminent  bookseller  that  in  no  branch  of 
his  business,  after  tracts  of  popular  devotion,  were  so  many 
books  as  those  on  the  law  exported  to  the  plantations.  The 
colonists  have  now  fallen  into  the  way  of  printing  them  for  their  isc 
own  use.  I  hear  that  they  have  sold  nearly  as  many  of  Black- 
stone's  Commentaries  in  America  as  in  England.  General  Gage 
marks  out  this  disposition  very  particularly  in  a  letter  on  your 
table.  He  states  that  all  the  people  in  his  government  are  law- 
yers, or  smatterers  in  law  ;  and  that  in  Boston  they  have  been  155 
enabled,  by  successful  chicane,  wholly  to  evade  many  parts  of 
one  of  your  capital  penal  constitutions.  The  smartness  of  de- 
bate will  say  that  this  knowledge  ought  to  teach  them  more 
clearly  the  rights  of  legislature,  their  obligations  to  obedience, 
and  the  penalties  of  rebellion.  All  this  is  mighty  well.  But  my  160 
honorable  and  learned  friend  on  the  floor,  who  condescends  to 
mark  what  I  say  for  animadversion,  will  disdain  that  ground. 
He  has  heard,  as  well  as  I,  that  when  great  honors  and  great 
emoluments  do  not  win  over  this  knowledge  to  the  service  of 
the  State,  it  is  a  formidable  adversary  to  government.  If  the  165 
spirit  be  not  tamed  and  broken  by  these  happy  methods,  it  is  stub- 
born and  litigious.  Abeunt  studio,  in  mores.  This  study  renders 
men  acute,  inquisitive,  dexterous,  prompt  in  attack,  ready  in  de- 
fence, full  of  resources.  In  other  countries,  the  people,  more 
simple,  and  of  a  less  mercurial*  cast,  judge  of  an  ill  principle  in  i7a 


155,  156.  in  Boston  .  .  .  chicane.  (See 
Bancroft,  vol.  vii.,  ch.  viii. )  Gen- 
eral Gage,  in  pursuance  of  the 
powers  given  him  by  the  coercive 
statutes,  had  prohibited  the  call- 
ing of  town  meetings  after  Au- 
gust i,  1774.  A  town  meeting 
was,  however,  held,  and  assert- 
ed to  be  legal,  not  having  been 
"  called,"  but  adjourned  aver. 
"  By  such  means,"  said  the  puz- 


zled Gage,  "  you  may  keep  your 
meeting  alive  ten  years."  He 
brought  the  subject  before  the 
new  Council.  "  It  is  a  point 
of  law,"  said  they,  "and  should 
be  referred  to  the  Crown  law- 
yers." 

167.  Abeunt  studia.  The  quotation  is 
evidently  adopted  from  Bacon's 
Essay  of  Studies  (see  page  34, 
line  36,  of  this  book). 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY  IN  AMERICA. 


243 


government  only  by  an  actual  grievance ;  here  they  anticipate 
the  evil,  and  judge  of  the  pressure  of  the  grievance  by  the  bad- 
ness of  the  principle.  They  augur*  misgovernment  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  snuff  the  approach  of  tyranny  in  every  tainted 
breeze.  I7S 

8.  The  last  cause  of  this  disobedient  spirit  in  the  colonies  is 
hardly  less  powerful  than  the  rest,  as  it  is  not  merely  moral,  but 
laid  deep  in  the  natural  constitution  of  things.     Three  thousand 
miles  of  ocean  lie  between  you  and  them.     No  contrivance  can 
prevent  the  effect  of  this  distance  in  weakening  government.  i8o 
Seas  roll,  and  months  pass,  between  the  order  and  the  execu- 
tion ;  and  the  want  of  a  speedy  explanation  of  a  single  point  is 
enough  to  defeat  a  whole  system.     You  have,  indeed,  winged 
ministers  of  vengeance,  who  carry  your  bolts  in  their  pounces  to 
the  remotest  verge  of  the  sea.     But  there  a  power  steps  in,  that  185 
limits  the  arrogance  of  raging  passions   and  furious   elements, 
and  says,  "  So  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther."    Who  are  you, 
that  you  should  fret  and  rage,  and  bite  the  chains  of  Nature  ? 
Nothing  worse  happens   to  you  than  does  to  all  nations  who 
have   extensive  empire  ;  and  it  happens  in  all   the  forms  into  190 
which  empire  can  be  thrown.     In  large  bodies,  the  circulation  of 
power  must  be  less  vigorous  at  the    extremities.     Nature  has 
said  it.     The  Turk  cannot  govern  Egypt,  and  Arabia,  and  Cur- 
distan  as  he  governs  Thrace ;  nor  has  he  the  same  dominion  in 
Crimea  and  Algiers  which  he  has  at  Brusa  and  Smyrna.     Des- 195 
potism  itself  is  obliged  to  truck  and  huckster.     The  sultan  gets 
such  obedience  as  he  can.     He  governs  with  a  loose  rein,  that 
he  may  govern  at  all ;  and  the  whole  of  the  force  and  vigor  of 
his  authority  in  his  centre  is  derived  from  a  prudent  relaxation 

in  all  his  borders.     Spain,  in  her  provinces,  is,  perhaps,  not  so  200 
well  obeyed  as  you  are  in  yours.     She  complies  too  ;  she  sub- 
mits ;  she  watches  times.     This  is  the  immutable  condition,  the 
eternal  law,  of  extensive  and  detached  empire. 

9.  Then,  sir,  from  these  six  capital  sources — of  descent ;   of 
form  of  government ;  of  religion  in  the  Northern  provinces  ;  of  20t 


183,  184.  winged  ministers,  etc.  The 
British  men-of-war. — bolts  in 
th<»ir  pounoeg,  in  allusion  to  the 


thunder  -  bolts  placed  by  the 
Greek  artists  in  the  talons  of 
the  eagle,  the  bird  of  Jove, 


244 


BURKE. 


manners  in  the  southern;  of  education,;  of  the  remoteness  of 
situation  from  the  first  mover  of  government ; — from  all  these 
causes  a  fierce  spirit  of  liberty  has  grown  up.  It  has  grown  with 
the  growth  of  the  people  in  your  colonies,  and  increased  with  the 
increase  of  their  wealth— a  spirit  that,  unhappily  meeting  with2« 
an  exercise  of  power  in  England  which,  however  lawful,  is  not 
reconcilable  to  any  ideas  of  liberty,  much  less  with  theirs,  has 
kindled  this  flame  that  is  ready  to  consume  us. 


III.— TREATMENT  OF  THE  KING  AND  QUEEN  OF  FRANCE. 

[INTRODUCTION. — This  extract  is  from  Burke's  Reflections  on  the  Revolution 
in  France,  written  in  1790.  In  this  work  Burke  takes  strong  grounds  against 
the  principles  of  the  French  revolutionary  leaders,  and  reviews  the  events  in 
Paris  up  to  the  date  when  the  king  and  queen  were  conducted  by  the  mob 
from  Versailles  to  Paris,  October  6,  1789.] 

i.  I  hear,  and  I  rejoice  to  hear,  that  the  great  lady,  the  other 
object  of  the  triumph,  has  borne  that  day  (one  is  interested  that 
beings  made  for  suffering  should  suffer  well),  and  that  she 
bears  all  the  succeeding  days, — that  she  bears  the  imprisonment 
of  her  husband,  and  her  own  captivity,  and  the  exile  of  her  friends, 
and  the  insulting  adulation  of  addresses,  and  the  whole  weight  of 
her  accumulated  wrongs, — with  a  serene  patience,  in  a  manner 
suited  to  her  rank  and  race,  and  becoming  the  offspring  of  a  sov- 
ereign distinguished  for  her  piety  and  her  courage;  that,  like  her, 
she  has  lofty  sentiments  ;  that  she  feels  with  the  dignity  of  a  Ro- 
man  matron;  that  in  the  last  extremity  she  will  save  herself 
from  the  last  disgrace ;  and  that  if  she  must  fall,  she  will  fall  by 
no  ignoble  hand. 


NOTES. — I.  the  great  lady,  the  queen, 
Marie  Antoinette. 

2.  the  triumph,  the  so-called  "joyous 
entry,"  October  6,  1789,  when 
the  king  and  queen  were  brought 
by  the  mob  from  Versailles  to 
Paris. 


8,  9.  a  sovereign,  etc.  :  that  is,  Maria 
Theresa,  Empress  of  Austria, 
and  mother  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette. 

[I.  In  the  last  extremity.  Alluding  to 
the  queen's  carrying  poison 
about  with  her. 


TREATMENT  OF  THE  KING  AND  QUEEN  OF  FRANCE.   245 

2.  It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen 
of  France,  then  the  dauphiness,  at  Versailles  ;  and  surely  never  15 
lighted  on  this  orb,  which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more 
delightful  vision.     I  saw  her  just  above  the  horizon,  decorating 
and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she  just  began  to  move  in — 
glittering  like  the  morning-star,  full  of  life   and  splendor  and 
joy.     Oh,  what  a  revolution !  and  what  a  heart  I  must  have  to  20 
contemplate  without  emotion  that  elevation  and  that  fall !     Lit- 
tle did  I  dream,  when  she  added  titles  of  veneration  to  those  of 
enthusiastic,  distant,  respectful    love,  that   she  would  ever  be 
obliged  to  carry  the  sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed 
in  that  bosom  ;  little  did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  25 
such  disasters  fallen  upon  her  in  a  nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a 
nation  of  men  of  honor  and  of  cavaliers.*     I  thought  ten  thou- 
sand swords  must  have  leaped  from  their  scabbards  to  avenge 
even  a  look  that  threatened  her  with  insult.     But  the  age  of 
chivalry  is  gone.     That  of  sophisters,  economists,  and  calcula-so 
tors  has  succeeded ;  and  the  glory  of  Europe  is  extinguished 
forever.      Never,  never  more  shall  we  behold   that  generous 
loyalty  to  rank  and  sex,  that  proud  submission,  that  dignified 
obedience,  that   subordination   of  the  heart,  which  kept  alive, 
even  in  servitude  itself,  the  spirit  of  an  exalted  freedom.     The  35 
unbought  grace  of  life,  the  cheap  defence  of  nations,  the  nurse 
of  manly  sentiment  and  heroic  enterprise,  is  gone  !     It  is  gone, 


14.  It  is  now,  etc.  In  regard  to  the 
incident  recorded  in  this  pas- 
sage, Burke,  in  a  letter  to  Sir 
Philip  Francis  (the  supposed 
author  of  Junhis}^  makes  the 
following  interesting  observa- 
tions :  "  I  tell  you  again  that  the 
recollection  of  the  manner  in 
which  I  saw  the  Queen  of 
France  in  the  year  1774,  and  the 
contrast  between  that  brilliancy, 
splendor,  and  beauty,  with  the 
prostrate  homage  of  a  nation  to 
her,  and  the  abominable  scene  of 
1 789, which  I  was  describing,  did 
draw  tears  from  me,  and  wetted 
my  paper.  These  tears  came 


again  into  my  eyes,  almost  as 
often  as  I  looked  at  the  descrip- 
tion ;  they  may  again." 

15.  the  dauphiness.  Marie  Antoinette 
had  been  married  to  the  grand- 
son of  Louis  XV.  while  that 
grandson  was  still  the  dauphin, 
or  heir  apparent,  of  France;  and 
four  years  succeeded  the  mar- 
riage before  he  came  to  the 
throne  as  Louis  XVI.  "  Dau- 
phiness "=the  wife  of  the  dau- 
phin. 

22.  titles  of  veneration :  as,  for  example, 
that  of  queen. 

24.  sharp  antidote.    See  note  to  line  1 1. 

30.  sophisters  =  sophists. 


246  BURKE. 

that  sensibility  of  principle,  that  chastity  of  honor,  which  felt  a 
stain  like  a  wound,  which  inspired  courage  whilst  it  mitigated 
ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  it  touched,  and  under  which  & 
vice  itself  lost  half  its  evil  by  losing  all  its  grossness. 

3.  This  mixed  system  of  opinion  and  sentiment  had  its  origin 
in  the  ancient  chivalry;  and  the  principle,  though  varied  in  its 
appearance  by  the  varying  state  of  human  affairs,  subsisted  and 
influenced  through  a  long  succession  of  generations,  even  to  the  45 
time  we  live  in.  If  it  should  ever  be  totally  extinguished,  the 
loss,  I  fear,  will  be  great.  It  is  this  which  has  given  its  character 
to  modern  Europe.  It  is  this  which  has  distinguished  it  under 
all  its  forms  of  government,  and  distinguished  it  to  its  advan- 
tage, from  the  states  of  Asia,  and  possibly  from  those  states  s« 
which  flourished  in  the  most  brilliant  periods  of  the  antique 
world.  It  was  this  which,  without  confounding  ranks,  had  pro- 
duced a  noble  equality,  and  handed  it  down  through  all  the  gra- 
dations of  social  life.  It  was  this  opinion  which  mitigated  kings 
into  companions,  and  raised  private  men  to  be  fellows  with  ss 
kings.  Without  force  or  opposition,  it  subdued  the  fierceness 
of  pride  and  power ;  it  obliged  sovereigns  to  submit  to  the  soft 
collar  of  social  esteem,  compelled  stern  authority  to  submit  to 
elegance,  and  gave  a  dominating  vanquisher  of  laws  to  be  sub- 
dued by  manners.  60 

4.  But  now  all  is  to  be  changed.     All  the  pleasing  illusions 
which  made  power  gentle  and  obedience  liberal,  which  harmo- 
nized the  different  shades  of  life,  and  which,  by  a  bland  assimi- 
lation, incorporated  into  politics  the  sentiments  which  beautify 
and  soften  private  society,  are  to  be  dissolved  by  this  new  con-  65 
quering  empire  of  light  and  reason.     All  the  decent  drapery  of 
life  is  to  be  rudely  torn  off.     All  the  superadded  ideas,  fur- 
nished from  the  wardrobe   of  a   moral  imagination,  which  the 
heart  owns  and  the  understanding  ratifies,  as  necessary  to  cover 
the  defects  of  our  naked,  shivering  nature,  and  to  raise  it  to  70 
dignity  in  our  own  estimation,  are  to  be  exploded  as  a  ridic- 
ulous, absurd,  and  antiquated  fashion. 

5.  On  this  scheme  of  things,  a  king  is  but  a  man,  a  queen  is  but 

55-  fellows,  equals.  ,  the  French  revolutionists  and 

73-  this  scheme :  that  is,  the  scheme  of  I  political  theorists. 


TREATMENT  OF  THE  KING  AND  QUEEN  OF  FRANCE. 


247 


a  woman,  a  woman  is  but  an  animal,  and  an  animal  not  of  the 
highest  order.     All  homage  paid  to  the  sex  in  general  as  such,  75 
and  without  distinct  views,  is  to  be  regarded  as  romance  and 
folly.     Regicide  and  parricide  and  sacrilege  are  but  fictions  of 
superstition,  corrupting  jurisprudence  by  destroying  its  simplic- 
ity.    The  murder  of  a  king,  or  a  queen,  or  a  bishop,  or  a  father 
is  only  common  homicide  ;  and  if  the  people  are  by  any  chance,   s0 
or  in  any  way,  gainers  by  it,  a  sort  of  homicide  much  the  most 
pardonable,  and  into  which  we  ought  not  to  make  too  severe  a 
scrutiny. 

6.  On  the  scheme  of  this  barbarous  philosophy,  which  is  the  off- 
spring of  cold  hearts  and  muddy  understandings,  and  which  is  as  85 
void  of  solid  wisdom  as  it  is  destitute  of  all  taste  and  elegance, 
laws  are  to  be  supported  only  by  their  own  terrors,  and  by  the 
concern  which  each  individual  may  find  in  them  from  his  own 
private  speculations,  or  can  spare  to  them  from  his  own  private 
interests.  In  the  groves  of  their  Academy,  at  the  end  of  every  90 
visto,  you  see  nothing  but  the  gallows !  Nothing  is  left  which 
engages  the  affections  on  the  part  of  the  commonwealth.  On 
the  principles  of  this  mechanic  philosophy,  our  institutions  can 
never  be  embodied,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  in  persons,  so 
as  to  create  in  us  love,  veneration,  admiration,  or  attachment.  95 
But  that  sort  of  reason  which  banishes  the  affections  is  inca- 
pable of  filling  their  place.  These  public  affections,  combined 
with  manners,  are  required  sometimes  as  supplements,  some- 
times as  correctives,  always  as  aids,  to  law.  The  precept  given 
by  a  wise  man,  as  well  as  a  great  critic,  for  the  construction  of  KM 
poems  is  equally  true  as  to  states  :  "  Non  satis  est  pulchra  esse 
poemata,  dulcia  sunto."  There  ought  to  be  a  system  of  manners 
in  every  nation  which  a  well-formed  mind  would  be  disposed  co 
relish.  To  make  us  love  our  country,  our  country  ought  to  be 
lovely.  105 


)i.  visto  =  vista. 

93.  mechanic  =  merely  mechanical. 
100-102.  wise  man  .  .  .  sunto:    that   is, 
Horace.     The  passage  is  from 


the  Ars  Poetica,  and  means, '  It 
is  not  enough  that  poems  be 
beautiful,  they  must  also  be 
sweet." 


XV. 

WILLIAM   COWPER. 

1731-1800. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  CAMPBELL. 

i.  The  nature  of  Cowper's  works  makes  us  peculiarly  identify 
the  poet  and  the  man  in  perusing  them.  As  an  individual,  he 
was  retired  and  weaned  from  the  vanities  of  the  world ;  and  as 
an  original  writer,  he  left  the  ambitious  and  luxuriant  subjects 


CAMPBELL'S   CHARACTERIZATION  OF  COWPER. 


249 


of  fiction  and  passion  for  those  of  real  life  and  simple  nature,  and 
for  the  development  of  his  own  earnest  feelings  in  behalf  of  moral 
and  religious  truth. 

2.  His  language  has  such  a  masculine,  idiomatic  strength,  and 
his  manner,  whether  he  rises  into  grace  or  falls  into  negligence, 
has  so  much  plain  and  familiar  freedom,  that  we  read  no  poetry 
with  a  deeper  conviction  of  its  sentiments  having  come  from  the 
author's  heart ;  and  of  the  enthusiasm,  in  whatever  he  describes, 
having  been  unfeigned  and  unexaggerated.     He  impresses  us 
with  the  idea  of  a  being  whose  fine  spirit  had  been  long  enough 
in  the  mixed  society  of  the  world  to  be  polished  by  its  inter- 
course, and  yet  withdrawn  so  soon  as  to  retain  an  unworldly  de- 
gree of  purity  and  simplicity. 

3.  He  was  advanced  in  years  before  he  became  an  author; 
but  his  compositions  display  a  tenderness  of  feeling  so  youth- 
fully preserved,  and  even  a  vein  of  humor  so  far  from  being  ex- 
tinguished by  his  ascetic  habits,  that  we  can  scarcely  regret  his 
not  having  written  them  at  an  earlier  period  of  life.     For  he 
blends  the  determination  of  age  with  an  exquisite  and  ingenuous 
sensibility ;  and,  though  he  sports  very  much  with  his  subjects, 
yet,  when  he  is  in  earnest,  there  is  a  gravity  of  long-felt  convic- 
tion in  his  sentiments  which  gives  an  uncommon  ripeness  of 
character  to  his  poetry. 

4.  It  is  due  to  Cowper  to  fix  our  regard  on  this  unaffectedness 
and  authenticity  of  his  works,  considered  as  representations  of 
himself,  because  he  forms  a  striking  instance  of  genius,  writing 
the  history  of  its  own  secluded  feelings,  reflections,  and  enjoy- 
ments, in  a  shape  so  interesting  as  to  engage  the  imagination 
like  a  work  of  fiction.     He  has  invented  no  character  in  .fable, 
nor  in  the  drama ;  but  he  has  left  a  record  of  his  own  character, 
which  forms  not  only  an  object  of  deep  sympathy,  but  a  subject 
for  the  study  of  human  nature.     His  verse,  it  is  true,  considered 
as  such  a  record,  abounds  with  opposite  traits  of  severity  and 
gentleness,  of   playfulness    and    superstition,  of   solemnity  and 
mirth,  which  appear  almost  anomalous ;  and  there  is,  undoubt- 
edly, sometimes  an  air  of  moody  versatility  in  the  extreme  con- 
trasts of  his  feelings. 

5.  But  looking  to  his  poetry  as  an  entire  structure,  it  has  a 
massive  air  of  sincerity.    It  is  founded  in  steadfast  principles  of 


250  COWPER. 

belief;  and  if  we  may  prolong  the  architectural  metaphor,  though 
its  arches  may  be  sometimes  gloomy,  its  tracery  sportive,  and  its 
lights  and  shadows  grotesquely  crossed,  yet,  altogether,  it  still 
forms  a  vast,  various,  and  interesting  monument  of  the  builder's 
mind.  Young's  works  are  as  devout,  as  satirical,  sometimes  as 
merry,  as  those  of  Cowper,  and  undoubtedly  more  witty.  But 
the  melancholy  and  wit  of  Young  do  not  make  up  to  us  the  idea 
of  a  conceivable  or  natural  being.  He  has  sketched  in  his  pages 
the  ingenious  but  incongruous  form  of  a  fictitious  mind ;  Cow- 
per's  soul  speaks  from  his  volumes. 

6.  Considering  the  tenor  and  circumstances  of  his  life,  it  is  not 
much  to  be  wondered  at  that  some  asperities  and  peculiarities 
should  have  adhered  to  the  strong  stem  of  his  genius,  like  the 
moss  and  fungus  that  cling  to  some  noble  oak  of  the  forest  amidst 
the  damps  of  its  unsunned  retirement. 


MRS.  BROWNING'S  STANZAS  ON  COWPER'S  GRAVE. 

1.  It  is  a  place  where  poets  crowned 

May  feel  the  heart's  decaying ; 
It  is  a  place  where  happy  saints 

May  weep  amid  their  praying. 
Yet  let  the  grief  and  humbleness 

As  low  as  silence  languish, 
Earth  surely  now  may  give  her  calm 

To  whom  she  gave  her  anguish. 

2.  O  poets  !  from  a  maniac's  tongue1 

Was  poured  the  deathless  singing ! 
O  Christians  !  at  your  cross  of  hope 

A  hopeless  hand  was  clinging ! 
O  men !  this  man  in  brotherhood, 

Your  weary  paths  beguiling, 
Groaned  inly  while  he  taught  you  peace, 

And  died  while  ye  were  smiling. 

1  Cowper  was  of  an  extremely  melancholy  temperament  (yet  he  wrote  John 
Gilpin  /).  During  his  whole  life  he  was  subject  to  temporary  fits  of  mental 
aberration,  and  before  his  death  became  wholly  insane. 


ON  THE  RECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE.      251 

3.  And  now,  what  time  ye  all  may  read 

Through  dimming  tears  his  story — 
How  discord  on  the  music  fell, 

And  darkness  on  the  glory; 
And  how,  when,  one  by  one,  sweet  sounds 

And  wandering  lights  departed, 
He  wore  no  less  a  loving  face 

Because  so  broken-hearted. 

4.  He  shall  be  strong  to  sanctify 

The  poet's  high  vocation, 
And  bow  the  meekest  Christian  down 

In  meeker  adoration ; 
Nor  ever  shall  he  be  in  praise 

By  wise  or  good  forsaken ; 
Named  softly  as  the  household  name 

Of  one  whom  God  hath  taken ! 


ON   THE   RECEIPT   OF  MY   MOTHER'S   PICTURE   OUT   OF 
NORFOLK. 

[INTRODUCTION. — These  touching  lines  were  written  by  Cowper  in  1790, 
ten  years  before  his  death.  The  occasion  was  the  receipt  of  his  mother's  por- 
trait from  his  cousin  Ann  Bodham,  and  in  a  letter  to  that  lady  he  uses  the 
following  words  :  "The  world  could  not  have  furnished  you  with  a  present  so 
acceptable  to  me  as  the  picture  which  you  have  so  kindly  sent  me.  I  received 
it  the  night  before  last,  and  viewed  it  with  a  trepidation  of  nerves  and  spirits 
somewhat  akin  to  what  I  should  have  felt  had  the  dear  original  presented  her- 
self to  my  embraces.  I  kissed  it  and  hung  it  where  it  is  the  last  object  that  I 
see  at  night,  and,  of  course,  the  first  on  which  I  open  my  eyes  in  the  morning. 
She  died  when  I  completed  my  sixth  year ;  yet  I  remember  her  well,  and  am 
an  ocular  witness  of  the  great  fidelity  of  the  copy."] 

Oh  that  those  lips  had  language  !     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — i.  Oh  that,  etc.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammati- 
cally ?  Observe  that  "  oh  "  here  is  the  emotional  interjection,  not  the  mere 
sign  of  the  vocative  case,  which  should  be  written  O.  Translated  from  emo- 
tional into  intellectual  expression,  "  Oh  "  is  equivalent  to  the  sentence  How  I 
wish  that ! 1 

2.  but  roughly.     What  is  the  force  of  "  but "  here  ? 

1  "  Speech  is  the  expression  of  thought,  but  an  interjection  is  the  expression 


COWPER. 

Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 
The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me ; 
Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say,  $ 

"Grieve  not,  my  child;  chase  all  thy  fears  away!" 
The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes 
(Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize — 
The  art  that  baffles  Time's  tyrannic  claim 
To  quench  it)  here  shines  on  me  still  the  same.  10 

Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear, 

0  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here, 
Who  bidd'st  me  honor  with  an  artless  song, 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long ! 

1  will  obey,  not  willingly  alone,  15 
But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own  : 

And,  while  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief, 

Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief, 

Shall  steep  me  in  Elysian  revery,* 

A  momentary  dream,  that  thou  art  she.  20 

My  mother !  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 5.  else  how  distinct.  What  is  the  force  of  "  else  ?" 
—For  what  word  is  "  distinct "  here  used  by  poetic  license  ? 

6.  Grieve  not . . .  away.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

7.  meek  intelligence.     Explain. 

8-10.  the  art ...  it.  To  what  art  does  the  author  refer  ? — Translate  this 
periphrasis  into  plain  language. 

12.  0.     Is  this  the  emotional  interjection,  or  the  sign  of  the  .vocative  case  ? 

13,  14.  artless  song,  Affectionate.     Remark  on  the  order  of  words.     See  Mil- 
ton's L* Allegro,  page  51,  note  32,  of  this  book. 

16.  as  the  precept  were  her  own.  In  this  construction  modern  prose  usage 
requires  the  conjunction  if  after  as  ;  but  the  old  English  idiom  is  "as"  alone 
followed  by  a  verb  in  the  subjunctive. 

19.  Elysian  revery.     Explain.     Discriminate  between  "  revery  "  and  dream. 

21.  My  mother!  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  23.) 


of  feeling  ;  so  that  it  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  part  of  speech.  Indeed,  in  place 
of  being  a  part  of  a  sentence,  it  is  itself  an  entire  though  unanalyzed  utterance 
of  emotion,  and  expresses,  in  its  own  way,  what  it  would  require  a  whole  sen- 
tence to  state — provided  this  statement  were  possible." — SWINTON  :  New 
English  Grammar,  page  196. 


ON  THE  RECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE.     253 

Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son, 

Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun  ? 

Perhaps  thou  gav'st  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss  ?  2* 

Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss  ? 

Ah,  that  maternal  smile  !  it  answers,  Yes. 

I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day, 

I  saw  the  hearse  *  that  bore  thee  slow  away, 

And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew  30 

A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu  !  * 

But  was  it  such  ? — It  was. — Where  thou  art  gone, 

Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 

May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore, 

The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more !  35 

Thy  maidens  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern, 

Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return. 

What  ardently  I  wished,  I  long  believed, 

And,  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived. 

By  expectation  every  day  beguiled,  40 

Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a  child. 

Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 

Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrow  spent, 

I  learned  at  last  submission  to  my  lot; 

But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  forgot.  45 

Where  once  we  dwelt,  our  name  is  heard  no  more. 
Children  not  thine  have  trod  my  nursery  floor ; 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 24.  Wretch  even  then.     See  note  to  Mrs.  Browning's 
lines,  page  250. 

25.  uufelt.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  ? 

26.  if  souls  . . .  bliss.     Arrange  this  expression  in  the  prose  order,  and  ex- 
plain its  meaning. — What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  "  bliss  ?"     (See  Def.  29.) 

27.  maternal  smile.     Vary  the  form  of  expression. 

28-31.  I  heard. ..  adiev.     Analyze  this  sentence.  —  slow.     Give  the  prose 
form. 

32.  such.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

35.  pass  my  lips.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     (See  Def.  20.) 

38.  What .  .  .  believed.     Arrange  in  the  prose  order,  and  analyze. 

39.  And  . .  .  deceived.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     (See  Def.  18.) 

42.  gad  to-morrow  came,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     (See  Def.  22.) 
46.  Where  once  .  .  .  more.     Cowper's  father  was  rector  of  Great  Berkham- 
stead,  England.     He  died  in  1756. 


COWPER. 

And  where  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day, 

Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way, 

Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapped  50 

In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet-capped, 

'Tis  now  become  a  history  little  known, 

That  once  we  called  the  pastoral  house  our  own. 

Short-lived  possession  !  but  the  record  fair 

That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there  ss 

Still  outlives  many  a  storm  that  has  effaced 

A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced. 

Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made, 

That  thou  mightst  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid ; 

Thy  morning  bounties  ere  I  left  my  home,  60 

The  biscuit  or  confectionery  plum ; 

The  fragrant  waters  on  my  cheeks  bestowed 

By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  shone  and  glowed, — 

All  this,  and,  more  endearing  still  than  all, 

Thy  constant  flow  of  love,  that  knew  no  fall,  65 

Ne'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks, 

That  humor  interposed  too  often  makes ; 

All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 

And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 50.  bauble.     The  word  is  ultimately  connected  with 
babe,  and  hence  the  meaning  of  the  epithet  as  here  used. 

51.  scarlet  mantle  warm.     Remark  on  the  order  of  words.  —  velvet -capped. 
Explain. 

52.  'Tis  now  become.     Modernize. 

53.  pastoral  house.     Why  "  pastoral  ?" 

54.  fair.     Substitute  a  synonymous  word  for  "  fair  "  as  here  used. 

56.  Still  outlives,  etc.     "  I  can  truly  say,"  wrote  Cowper,  nearly  fifty  years 
after  his  mother's  death,  "  that  not  a  week  passes  (perhaps  I  might  with  equal 
veracity  say  a  day)  in  which  I  do  not  think  of  her :  such  was  the  impression 
her  tenderness  made  upon  me,  though  the  opportunity  she  had  for  showing  it 
was  so  short." 

57.  themes.     What  is  the  force  of  this  word  as  here  used? 

65,  66.  Thy  constant .  . .  breaks.     Point  out  the  metaphorical  words  in  these 
lines. 

67.  humor.     What  is  meant  by  "  humor  "  here  ? 

68.  legible  .  .  .  page.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  20.) 


ON  THE  RECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE. 


255 


Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay  TO 

Such  honors  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may; 

Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  but  sincere, 

Not  scorned  in  heaven,  though  little  noticed  here. 

Could  Time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the  hours 

When,  playing  with  thy  vesture's  tissued  flowers,  75 

The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 

I  pricked  them  into  paper  with  a  pin 

(And  thou  wast  happier  than  myself  the  while; 

Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and  smile), 

Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear,  &> 

Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish  them  here  ? 

I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear  delight 

Seems  so  to  be  desired,  perhaps  I  might. 

But  no !  what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such, 

So  little  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much,  85 

That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 

Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou,  as  a  gallant  bark  from  Albion's  coast 
(The  storms  all  weathered  and  the  ocean  crossed) 
Shoots  into  port  at  some  well-havened  isle  90 

Where  spices  breathe,  and  brighter  seasons  smile, 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods,  that  show 
Her  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below, 
While  airs  impregnated  with  incense  play 
Around  her,  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay, —  95 

So  thou,  with  sails  how  swift !  hast  reached  the  shore, 
"  Where  tempests  never  beat,  nor  billows  roar ;" 
And  thy  loved  consort  on  the  dangerous  tide 
Of  life  long  since  has  anchored  by  thy  side. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 71.  numbers,  a  conspicuous  word  in  the  poetic  dic- 
tion of  last  century  :  what  does  it  mean  ?     Compare  Pope's 
"  I  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came." 

72.  frail  memorial.     In  what  line  of  Gray's  Elegy  does  this  expression  oc- 
cur ?     Explain  it. 

75.  thy  vesture's  tissued  flowers.     Explain. 

86,  87.  to  constrain  .  .  .  again.     Express  in  your  own  language. 

88-105.  Point  out  how  the  metaphor  is  developed. 

97.  The  line  is  quoted  from  a  poem  called  The  Dispensary,  by  Garth. 


•256 


COWPER. 

But  me,  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest,  100 

Always  from  port  withheld,  always  distressed — 

Me  howling  blasts  drive  devious,  tempest-tossed, 

Sails  ripped,  seams  opening  wide,  and  compass  lost, 

And  day  by  day  some  current's  thwarting  force 

Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosperous  course.  105 

But  oh  !  the  thought  that  thou  art  safe,  and  he, 

That  thought  is  joy,  arrive  what  may  to  me. 

My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 

From  loins  enthroned  and  rulers  of  the  earth; 

But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise —  no 

The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies. 

And  now,  farewell !     Time  unrevoked  has  run 

His  wonted  course ;  yet  what  I  wished  is  done. 

By  contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 

I  seem  to  have  lived  my  childhood  o'er  again  ;  ns 

To  have  renewed  the  joys  that  once  were  mine, 

Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine ; 

And,  while  the  wings  of  fancy  still  are  free, 

And  I  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee, 

Time  has  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theft —  ,20 

Thyself  removed,  thy  power  to  soothe  me  left. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 103.  compass  lost.  What  fact  in  Cowper's  life  adds 
immense  force  to  this  expression  ?  which  explain. 

1 06.  and  he.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

109.  loing.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  28.) — Cowper's  mother 
traced  her  ancestry  through  four  different  lines  to  Henry  III.  of  England. 

119.  mimic  show.     Explain. 

121.  Thyself  removed .  . .  left.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  18.) 


XVI. 

EDWARD   GIBBON. 

I737-I794. 


GIBBON'S  OWN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  GREAT  HISTORY.1 

i.  It  was  at  Rome,  on  the  i5th  of  October,  1764,  as  I  sat  mus- 
ing amidst  the  ruins  of  the  capitol,  while  the  barefooted  friars 
were  singing  vespers  in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  that  the  idea  of 

•> 
1  From  Gibbon's  Memoir  of  My  Life  and  Writings. 

17 


258  GIBBON. 

writing  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  city  first  started  to  my  mind 
But  my  original  plan  was  circumscribed  to  the  decay  of  the  city, 
rather  than  of  the  empire ;  and  though  my  reading  and  reflec- 
tions began  to  point  towards  that  object,  some  years  elapsed, 
and  several  avocations  intervened,  before  I  was  seriously  en- 
gaged ini  the  execution  of  that  laborious  task. 

2.  No  sooner  was- 1  settled  in  my  house  and  library  than  I  un- 
dertook the  composition  of  the  first  volume  of  my  History.    At 
the  outset  all  was  dark  and  doubtful ;  even  the  title  of  the  work, 
the  true  era  of  the;  decline  and  fall  of  the  empire,  the  limits  of 
the  introduction,  the  division  of  the  chapters,  and  the  order  of 
the  narrative ;  and  I  was  often  tempted  to  cast  away  the  labor 
of  seven  years.     The  style  of  an-  author  should  be  the  image  of 
his  mind,  but  the  choice  and  command  of  language  is  the  fruit 
of  exercise.     Many  experiments  were  made  before  I  could  hit 
the  middle  tone  between  a  dull  chronicle  and  a  rhetorical  decla- 
mation.    Three  times  did  I  compose  the  first  chapter,  and  twice 
the  second  and  third,  before  I  was  tolerably  satisfied  with  their 
effect.     In  the  remainder  of  the  way  I  advanced  with  a  more 
equal  and  easy  pace ;  but  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  chapters 
have  been  reduced,  by  three  successive  revisals,  from  a  large  vol- 
ume to  their  present  size ;  and  they  might  still  be  compressed, 
without  any  loss  of  facts  or  sentiments.     An  opposite  fault  may 
be  imputed  to  the  concise  and  superficial  narrative  of  the  first 
reigns  from  Commodus  to  Alexander ;  a  fault  of  which  I  have 
never  heard,  except  from  Mr.  Hume  in  his  last  journey  to  Lon- 
don.    Such  an  oracle  might  have  been  consulted  and  obeyed 
with  rational  devotion ;  but  I  was  soon  disgusted  with  the  mod- 
est practice  of  reading  the  manuscript  to  my  friends.     Of  such 
friends,  some  will  praise  from  politeness,  and  some  will  criticise 
from  vanity.     The  author  himself  is  the  best  judge  of  his  own 
performance ;  no  one  has  so  deeply  meditated  the  subject ;  no 
one  is  so  sincerely  interested  in  the  event. 

3,  It  was  not  till  after  many  designs  and  many  trials  that  I 
preferred,  as  I  still  prefer,  the  method  of  grouping  my  picture  by 
nations ;  and  the  seeming  neglect  of  chronological  order  is  sure- 
ly compensated  by  the  superior  merits  of  interest  and  perspicu- 
ity.    The  style  of  the  first  volume  is,  in  my  opinion,  somewhat 
crude  and  elaborate ;  in  the  second  and  third  it  is  ripened  into 


GIBBON'S   OWN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  GREAT  HISTORY.  259 

ease,  correctness,  and  numbers  ;  but  in  the  three  last  I  may  have 
been  seduced  by  the  facility  of  my  pen,  and  the  constant  habit  of 
speaking  one  language  and  writing  another  may  have  infused 
some  mixture  of  Gallic  idioms. 

4.  Happily  for  my  eyes,  I  have  always  closed  my  studies  with 
the  day,  and  commonly  with  the  morning ;  and  a  long  but  tem- 
perate labor  has  been  accomplished  without  fatiguing  either  the 
mind  or  body ;  but  when  I  computed  the  remainder  of  my  time 
and  my  task,  it  was  apparent  that,  according  to  the  season  of 
publication,  the  delay  of  a  month  would  be  productive  of  that  of 
a  year.     I  was  now  straining  for  the  goal,  and  in  the  last  winter 
many  evenings  were  borrowed  from  the  social  pleasures  of  Lau- 
sanne.    I  could  now  wish  that  a  pause,  an  interval,  had  been  al- 
lowed for  a  serious  revisal. 

5.  I  have  presumed  to  mark  the  moment  of  conception:  I  shall 
now  commemorate  the  hour  of  my  final  deliverance.     It  was  on 
the  day,  or  rather  night,  of  the  2jth  of  June,  1787,  between  the 
hours  of  eleven  and  twelve,  that  I  wrote  the  last  lines  of  the  last 
page,  in  a  summer-house  in  my  garden.     After  laying  down  my 
pen,  I  took  several  turns  in  a  berceau,  or  covered  walk  of  acacias, 
which  commands  a  prospect  of  the  country,  the  lake,  and  the 
mountains.     The  air  was  temperate,  the  sky  was  serene,  the  sil- 
ver orb  of  the  moon  was  reflected  from  the  waters,  and  all  nature 
was  silent.     I  will  not  dissemble  the  first  emotions  of  joy  on  re- 
covery of  my  freedom,  and,  perhaps,  the  establishment  of  my 
fame.     But  my  pride  was  soon  humbled,  and  a  sober  melancholy 
was  spread  over  my  mind  by  the  idea  that  I  had  taken  an  ever- 
lasting leave  of  an  old  and  agreeable  companion,  and  that  what- 
soever might  be  the  future  date  of  my  History,  the  life  of  the 
historian  must  be  short  and  precarious. 

6.  I  will  add  two  facts,  which  have  seldom  occurred  in  the  com- 
position of  six,  or  at  least  of  five,  quartos  :   i.  My  first  rough  man- 
uscript, without  any  intermediate  copy,  has  been  sent  to  the  press ; 
2.  Not  a  sheet  has  been  seen  by  any  human  eyes,  excepting  those 
of  the  author  and  the  printer.    The  faults  and  the  merits  are  ex- 
clusively my  own. 


260 


GIBBON; 


THE   OVERTHROW   OF  ZENOBIA. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extract  is  from  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire,  the  first  volume  of  which  was  published  in  1776.  Sir 
Archibald  Alison  speaks  of  Gibbon  as  "the  architect  of  a  bridge  over  the 
dark  gulf  which  separates  ancient  from  modern  times,  whose  vivid  genius  has 
tinged  with  brilliant  colors  the  greatest  historical  work  in  existence."] 

i.  Aurelian  had  no  sooner  secured  the  person  and  provinces  of 
Tetricus  than  he  turned  his  arms  against  Zenobia,  the  celebrated 
Queen  of  Palmyra  and  the  East.  Modern  Europe  has  produced 
several  illustrious  women  who  have  sustained  with  glory  the  weight 
of  empire,  nor  is  our  own  age  destitute  of  such  distinguished  char- 
acters.  But  if  we  except  the  doubtful  achievements  of  Semira- 
mis,  Zenobia  is,  perhaps,  the  only  female  whose  superior  genius 
broke  through  the  servile  indolence  imposed  on  her  sex  by  the 
climate  and  manners  of  Asia.  She  claimed  her  descent  from 
the  Macedonian  kings  of  Egypt,  equalled  in  beauty  her  ancestor 
Cleopatra,  and  far  surpassed  that  princess  in  chastity  and  valor. 


NOTES.  —  Line  i.  Aurelian,  a  Roman 
emperor,  was  born  in  the  early 
part  of  the  third  century  A.D., 
and  was  assassinated  in  A.D. 

275- 

2.  Tetricus,  a  Roman  senator,  one  of 
the  numerous  usurpers  of  the 
imperial  purple  in  the  third 
century  A.D.,  who  are  distin- 
guished in  Roman  history  by 
the  name  of  the  Thirty  Tyrants. 
—  Zenobia,  Septimia,  was  the 
daughter  of  an  Arab  chief  who 
ruled  the  southern  part  of  Mes- 
opotamia. Her  second  hus- 
band was  Odenathus,  Prince  of 
Palmyra,  after  whose  assassi- 
nation, in  A.D.  267,  she  succeed- 


ed him,  extended  her  sway  over 
considerable  portions  of  Meso- 
potamia and  Syria,  and  assumed 
the  title  of  Queen  of  the  East. 
3.  Palmyra,  an  ancient  city  in  an  oasis 
in  the  Syrian  desert,  was  an  in- 
dependent city,  and  a  great  em- 
porium of  trade.  In  the  reign 
of  Hadrian  it  formed  an  alliance 
with  Rome. 

6,  7.  Semiramis,  a  queen  of  Assyria, 
who,  according  to  fabulous  tra- 
ditions handed  down  by  classi- 
cal authors,  reigned  about  B.C. 
2000. 

II.  Cleopatra,  the  last  queen  of  Egypt, 
was  born  in  B.C.  69,  and  died 
B.C.  30. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  1-3.  Aurelian  . .  .  East.  What  kind  of  sentence, 
grammatically  and  rhetorically  ? 

5,  6.  such  distinguished  characters.  Can  you  name  any  celebrated  female 
sovereigns  the  contemporaries  of  Gibbon  ? 


THE   OVERTHROW  OF  ZENOBIA. 


261 


Zenobia  was  esteemed  the  most  lovely  as  well  as  the  most  heroic 
of  her  sex.  She  was  of  a  dark  complexion  (for  in  speaking  of  a 
lady  these  trifles  become  important).  Her  teeth  were  of  a  pearly 
whiteness,  and  her  large  black  eyes  sparkled  with  uncommon  15 
fire,  tempered  by  the  most  attractive  sweetness.  Her  voice  was 
strong  and  harmonious.  Her  manly  understanding  was  strength- 
ened and  adorned  by  study.  She  was  not  ignorant  of  the  Latin 
tongue,  but  possessed  in  equal  perfection  the  Greek,  the  Syriac, 
and  the  Egyptian  languages.  She  had  drawn  up  for  her  own  20 
use  an  epitome*  of  Oriental  history,  and  familiarly  compared  the 
beauties  of  Homer  and  Plato  under  the  tuition  of  the  sublime 
Longinus. 

2.  This  accomplished  woman  gave  her  hand  to  Odenathus, 
who,  from  a  private  station,  raised  himself  to  the  dominion  of  the  25 
East.     She  soon  became  the  friend  and  companion  of  a  hero. 
In  the  intervals  of  war,  Odenathus  passionately  delighted  in  the 
exercise  of  hunting ;  he  pursued  with  ardor  the  wild  beasts  of  the 
desert,  lions,  panthers,  and  bears ;  and  the  ardor  of  Zenobia  in 
that  dangerous  amusement  was  riot  inferior  to  his  own.    She  had  30 
inured  her  constitution  to  fatigue,  disdained  the  use  of  a  covered 
carriage,  generally  appeared  on  horseback  in  a  military  habit, 
and  sometimes  marched  several  miles  on  foot  at  the  head  of  the 
troops.     The  success  of  Odenathus  was,  in  a  great  measure,  as- 
cribed to  her  incomparable  prudence  and  fortitude.    Their  splen-  35 
did  victories  over  the  great  king,  whom  they  twice  pursued  as  far 
as  the  gates  of  Ctesiphon,  laid  the  foundations  of  their  united 


23.  Longi'nus  (born  about  A.D.  213) 
was  a  Greek  writer  who  re- 
moved to  Palmyra  on  invitation 
of  Zenobia,  and  became  not  only 
her  literary  instructor,  but  also 
her  principal  political  counsel- 
lor. His  chief  work  was  a 
treatise  On  the  Sublime. 


26.  the  friend  .  .  .  hero :  that  is,  the 
friend  and  companion  of  Ode- 
nathus. 

36.  the  great  king:  that  is,  the  King  of 
Persia  (Sapor),  to  whom  the  Ro- 
man emperor  Valerian  surren- 
dered, but  who  was  pursued  and 
twice  defeated  by  Odenathus. 


LITERARY    ANALYSIS.  —  17.  manly  understanding.      Substitute   equivalent 
words. 

18.  not  ignorant.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  81.) 
21.  epitome.     State  the  derivation  of  this  word. — Give  a  synonym. 


262 


GIBBON. 


fame  and  power.  The  armies  which  they  commanded,  and  the 
provinces  which  they  had  saved,  acknowledged  not  any  other 
sovereigns  than  their  invincible  chiefs.  The  senate  and  people  40 
of  Rome  revered  a  stranger  who  had  avenged  their  captive  em- 
peror, and  even  the  insensible  son  of  Valerian  accepted  Odena- 
thus  for  his  legitimate  colleague. 

3.  After  a  successful  expedition  against  the  Gothic  plunderers 
of  Asia,  the  Palmyrenian  prince  returned  to  the  city  of  Emesa,  in  45 
Syria.     Invincible  in  war,  he  was  there  cut  off  by  domestic  trea- 
son, and  his  favorite  amusement  of  hunting  was  the  cause,  or  at 
least  the  occasion,  of  his  death.     His  nephew  Maeonius  presumed 
to  dart  his  javelin  before  that  of  his  uncle,  and,  though  admon- 
ished of  his  error,  repeated  the  same  insolence.     As  a  monarch  50 
and  as  a  sportsman,  Odenathus  was  provoked,  took  away  his 
horse — a  mark  of  ignominy  among  the  barbarians — and  chas- 
tised the  rash  youth  by  a  short  confinement.     The  offence  was 
soon  forgot,  but  the  punishment  was  remembered,  and  Maeonius, 
with  a  few  daring  associates,  assassinated  his  uncle  in  the  midst  ss 
of  a  great  entertainment.     Herod,  the  son  of  Odenathus,  though 
not  of  Zenobia,  a  young  man  of  a  soft  and  effeminate  temper,  was 
killed  with  his  father.     But  Maeonius  obtained  only  the  pleasure 
of  revenge  by  this  bloody  deed.    He  had  scarcely  time  to  assume 
the  title  of  Augustus  before  he  was  sacrificed  by  Zenobia  to  the  6c 
memory  of  her  husband. 

4.  With  the  assistance  of  his  most  faithful  friends,  she  imme- 
diately filled  the  vacant  throne,  and  governed  with  manly  coun- 
cils Palmyra,  Syria,  and  the  East  above  five  years.    By  the  death 


42.  insensible  son  of  Valerian.  The 
reference  is  to  the  Roman  em- 
peror Gallienus. 

42,  43.  accepted  ...  colleague.  After 
the  defeat  of  Sapor  by  Odena- 


thus, the  latter  was  associated 
by  Gallienus  in  the  government 
of  the  Roman  empire  with  the 
title  of  Augustus. 
62.  Mg:  that  is,  Odenathus's. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 40.  their.     To  what  noun  does  "their"  refer? 

46.  Inrincible  in  war.     What  kind  of  phrase,  and  an  adjunct  to  what  word  ? 

47,  48.  cause  . . .  occasion.    What  is  the  distinction  between  these  two  words  ? 
54.  forgot.     Query  as  to  this  form  of  the  word. 

62-92.  With  . .  .  East.     Distinguish  which  of  the  twelve  sentences  in  para- 
graph 4  are  periodic  and  which  loose  sentences. 


THE   OVERTHROW  OF  ZENOBIA.  263 

of  Odenathus,  that  authority  was  at  an  end  which  the  senate  had  65 
granted  him  only  as  a  personal  distinction  ;  but  his  martial  wid- 
ow, disdaining  both  the  senate  and  Gallienus,  obliged  one  of  the 
Roman  generals,  who  was  sent  against  her,  to  retreat  into  Eu- 
rope, with  the  loss  of  his  army  and  his  reputation.      Instead  of 
the  little  passions  which  so  frequently  perplex  a  female  reign,  70 
the  steady  administration  of  Zenobia  was  guided  by  the  most 
judicious  maxims  of  policy.     If  it  was  expedient  to  pardon,  she 
could  calm  her  resentment ;  if  it  was  necessary  to  punish,  she 
could  impose  silence  on  the  voice  of  pity.     Her  strict  economy 
was  accused  of  avarice ;  yet  on  every  proper  occasion  she  ap-  75 
peared  magnificent  and  liberal.     The  neighboring  states  of  Ara- 
bia, Armenia,  and  Persia  dreaded  her  enmity,  and  solicited  her 
alliance.     To  the  dominions  of  Odenathus,  which  extended  from 
the  Euphrates  to  the  frontiers  of  Bithynia,  his  widow  added  the 
inheritance  of  her  ancestors,  the  populous  and  fertile  kingdom  of  80 
Egypt.    The  Emperor  Claudius  acknowledged  her  merit,  and  was 
content  that,  while  he  pursued  the  Gothic  war,  she  should  assert 
the  dignity  of  the  empire  in  the  East.    The  conduct,  however,  of 
Zenobia  was  attended  with  some  ambiguity;*  nor  is  it  unlikely 
that  she  had  conceived  the  design  of  erecting  an  independent  83 
and  hostile  monarchy.     She  blended  with  the  popular  manners 
of  Roman  princes  the  stately  pomp  of  the  courts  of  Asia,  and  ex- 
acted from  her  subjects  the  same  adoration  that  was  paid  to  the 
successors  of  Cyrus.     She  bestowed  on  her  three  sons  a  Latin 
education,  and  often  showed  them  to  the  troops  adorned  with  the  90 
imperial  purple.     For  herself  she  reserved  the  diadem,  with  the 
splendid  but  doubtful  title  of  Queen  of  the  East. 

5.  When  Aurelian  passed  over  into  Asia,  against  an  adversary 


65.  the   senate:    that    is,   the    Roman    88,  89.  the  successors  of  Cyrus :  that  is, 

senate.     See  note  to  line  42.  the  kings  of  Persia. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 69-72.  Substitute  synonymous  terms  for  the  itali- 
cized words  in  the  following  sentence  :  "  Instead  of  the  little  passions  which  so 
frequently  perplex  a  female  reign,  the  steady  administration  of  Zenobia  was 
guided  by  the  most  judicious  maxims  of policy" 

84.  ambiguity.     Give  the  etymology  of  this  word. 

93-96.  When .  .  .  Zenobia.  What  kind  of  sentence,  grammatically  and  rhetor- 
ically ? 


264  GIBBON. 

whose  sex  alone  could  render  her  an  object  of  contempt,  his 
presence  restored  obedience  to  the  province  of  Bithynia,  already  9$ 
shaken  by  the  arms  and  intrigues  of  Zenobia.  Advancing  at  the 
head  of  his  legions,  he  accepted  the  submission  of  Ancyra,  and 
was  admitted  into  Tyana,  after  an  obstinate  siege,  by  the  help  of  • 
a  perfidious  citizen.  The  generous  though  fierce  temper  of  Au- 
relian  abandoned  the  traitor  to  the  rage  of  the  soldiers;  a  super- 100 
stitious  reverence  induced  him  to  treat  with  lenity  the  country- 
men of  Apollonius,  the  philosopher.  An-tioch  was  deserted  on 
his  approach,  till  the  emperor,  by  his  salutary  edicts,  recalled  the 
fugitives,  and  granted  a  general  pardon  to  all  who,  from  neces- 
sity rather  than  choice,  had  been  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  103 
Palmyrenian  queen.  The  unexpected  mildness  of  such  a  con- 
duct reconciled  the  minds  of  the  Syrians,  and,  as  far  as  the  gates 
of  Emesa,  the  wishes  of  the  people  seconded  the  terror  of  his 
arms. 

6.  Zenobia  would  have  ill  deserved  her  reputation  had  she  in-  no 
dolently  permitted  the  Emperor  of  the  West  to  approach  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  her  capital.    The  fate  of  the  East  was  decided 
in  two  great  battles,  so  similar,  in  almost  every  circumstance, 
that  we  can  scarcely  distinguish  them  from  each  other,  except  by 
observing  that  the  first  was  fought  near  Antioch,  and  the  second  115 
near  Emesa.    In  both  the  Queen  of  Palmyra  animated  the  armies 
by  her  presence,  and  devolved  the  execution  of  her  orders  on 
Zabdas,  who  had  already  signalized  his  military  talents  by  the 
conquest  of  Egypt.    'The  numerous  forces  of  Zenobia  consisted 
for  the  most  part  of  light  archers,  and  of  heavy  cavalry  clothed  in  120 
complete  steel.    The  Moorish  and  Illyrian  horse  of  Aurelian  were 
unable  to  sustain  the  ponderous  charge  of  their  antagonists. 
They  fled  in  real  or  affected  disorder,  engaged  the  Palmyrenians 
in  a  laborious  pursuit,  harassed  them  by  a  desultory  combat,  and 


102.  Apollonius.    Apollonius  Tyanaeus,  born  at  Tyana,  in  Cappadocia. 

a  Pythagorean  philosopher,  was  about  B.C.  4. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 108,  109.  the  wishes  .  . .  arms.     Express  the  thought 
in  your  own  language. 

i  io- 1 12.  had  she  ...  capittl.     What  kind  of  proposition  is  this  ? 
121.  irere.     Justify  the  use  of  the  plural  form. 


THE   OVERTHROW  OF  ZENOBIA. 


265 


at  length  discomfited  this  impenetrable  but  unwieldy  body  of  cav- 125 
airy.  The  light  infantry,  in  the  meantime,  when  they  had  ex- 
hausted their  quivers,  remaining  without  protection  against  a 
closer  onset,  exposed  their  naked  sides  to  the  swords  of  the  le- 
gions. Aurelian  had  chosen  these  veteran  troops,  who  were 
usually  stationed  on  the  Upper  Danube,  and  whose  valor  had  130 
been  severely  tried  in  the  Alemannic  war.  After  the  defeat  of 
Emesa,  Zenobia  found  it  impossible  to  collect  a  third  army.  As 
far  as  the  frontier  of  Egypt,  the  nations  subject  to  her  empire 
had  joined  the  standard  of  the  conqueror,  who  detached  Probus, 
the  bravest  of  his  generals,  to  possess  himself  of  the  Egyptian  135 
provinces.  Palmyra  was  the  last  resource  of  the  widow  of  Ode- 
nathus.  She  retired  within  the  walls  of  her  capital,  made  every 
preparation  for  a  vigorous  resistance,  and  declared,  with  the  in- 
trepidity of  a  heroine,  that  the  last  moment  of  her  reign  and  of 
her  life  should  be  the  same.  i40 

7.  Amid  the  barren  deserts  of  Arabia,  a  few  cultivated  spots 
rise  like  islands  out  of  the  sandy  ocean.  Even  the  name  of  Tad- 
mor,  or  Palmyra,  by  its  signification  in  the  Syriac  as  well  as  in 
the  Latin  language,  denoted  the  multitude  of  palm-trees  which 
afforded  shade  and  verdure  to  that  temperate  region.  The  air  i4S 
was  pure,  and  the  soil,  watered  by  some  invaluable  springs,  was 
capable  of  producing  fruits  as  well  as  corn.  A  place  possessed 
of  such  singular  advantages,  and  situated  at  a  convenient  distance 
between  the  Gulf  of  Persia  and  the  Mediterranean,  was  soon  fre- 
quented by  the  caravans  which  conveyed  to  the  nations  of  Eu-  I5o 
rope  a  considerable  part  of  the  rich  commodities  of  India.  Pal- 
myra insensibly  increased  into  an  opulent  and  independent  city, 
and,  connecting  the  Roman  and  the  Parthian  monarchies  by  the 
mutual  benefits  of  commerce,  was  suffered  to  observe  a  humble 


147.  corn,  wheat. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 128.  exposed  their  naked  sides.    Explain  this  expres- 
sion. 

137-140.  She  .  . .  same.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

141.  barren  deserts.      Remark  on  this  expression. 

141-166.  Amid .  .  „  glory.     Give  an  abstract  from  memory  of  Gibbon's  de- 
scription of  Palmyra. 

142.  ocean.     Is  the  word  here  used  literally  or  metaphorically  ? 


266  GIBBON. 

neutrality,  till  at  length,  after  the  victories  of  Trajan,  the  little  155 
republic  sank  into  the  bosom  of  Rome,  and  flourished  more  than 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  the  subordinate  though  honorable, 
rank  of  a  colony.     It  was  during  that  peaceful  period,  if  we  may 
judge  from  a  few  remaining  inscriptions,  that  the  wealthy  Palmy- 
renians  constructed  those  temples,  palaces,  and  porticos  of  Gre-  i<x> 
cian  architecture  whose  ruins,  scattered  over  an  extent  of  several 
miles,  have  deserved  the  curiosity  of  our  travellers.     The  eleva- 
tion of  Odenathus  and  Zenobia  appeared  to  reflect  new  splendor 
on  their  country,  and  Palmyra,  for  a  while,  stood  forth  the  rival* 
of  Rome ;  but  the  competition  was  fatal,  and  ages  of  prosperity  ,65 
were  sacrificed  to  a  moment  of  glory. 

8.  In  his  march  over  the  sandy  desert  between  Emesa  and 
Palmyra,  the  Emperor  Aurelian  was  perpetually  harassed  by  the 
Arabs ;  nor  could  he  always  defend  his  army,  and  especially  his 
baggage,  from  those  flying  troops  of  active  and  daring  robbers,  J7o 
who  watched  the  moment  of  surprise,  and  eluded  the  slow  pur- 
suit of  the  legions.  The  siege  of  Palmyra  was  an  object  far  more 
difficult  and  important,  and  the  emperor,  who,  with  incessant  vig- 
or, pressed  the  attacks  in  person,  was  himself  wounded  with  a 
dart.  "  The  Roman  people,"  says  Aurelian,  in  an  original  letter,  i7S 
"  speak  with  contempt  of  the  war  which  I  am  waging  against  a 
woman.  They  are  ignorant  both  of  the  character  and  of  the 
power  of  Zenobia.  It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  her  warlike 
preparations  of  stones,  of  arrows,  and  of  every  species  of  missile 
weapons.  Every  part  of  the  walls  is  provided  with  two  or  three  180 
balista,  and  artificial  fires  are  thrown  from  her  military  engines. 
The  fear  of  punishment  has  armed  her  with  a  desperate  courage. 
Yet  still  I  trust  in  the  protecting  deities  of  Rome,  who  have  hith- 
erto been  favorable  to  all  my  undertakings."  Doubtful,  however, 
of  the  protection  of  the  gods,  and  of  the  event  of  the  siege,  Aure- 185 
Han  judged  it  more  prudent  to  offer  terms  of  an  advantageous 
capitulation  :  to  the  queen,  a  splendid  retreat ;  to  the  citizens, 


181.  balistae.     The  balista  was  a  ma-,  bow,  used  by  the  ancients  in  war 

chine  in  the  form  of  a  cross-  |  for  throwing  stones,  etc. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 156.  sank  . . .  Rome.    Express  in  plain  language. 
164.  rival.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word 


THE   OVERTHROW  OF  ZENOBIA.  267 

their  ancient  privileges.     His  proposals  were  obstinately  reject- 
ed, and  the  refusal  was  accompanied  with  insult. 

9.  The  firmness  cf  Zenobia  was  supported  by  the  hope  that  in  190 
a  very  short  time  famine  would  compel  the  Roman  army  to  repass 
the  desert,  and  by  the  reasonable  expectation  that  the  kings  of  the 
East,  and  particularly  the  Persian  monarch,  would  arm  in  the  de- 
fence of  their  most  natural  ally.     But  fortune,  and  the  persever- 
ance of  Aurelian,  overcame  every  obstacle.     The  death  of  Sapor,  195 
which  happened  about  this  time,  distracted  the  councils  of  Per- 
sia, and  the  inconsiderable  succors  that  attempted  to  relieve  Pal- 
myra were  easily  intercepted  either  by  the  arms  or  the  liberality 
of  the  emperor.     From  every  part  of  Syria  a  regular  succession 

of  convoys  safely  arrived  in  the  camp,  which  was  increased  by  the  200 
return  of  Probus  with  his  victorious  troops  from  the  conquest  of 
Egypt.     It  was  then  that  Zenobia  resolved  to  fly.     She  mounted 
the  fleetest  of  her  dromedaries,  and  had   already  reached  the 
banks  of  the  Euphrates,  about  sixty  miles  from  Palmyra,  when 
she  was  overtaken  by  the  pursuit  of  Aurelian's  light  horse,  seized,  205 
and  brought  back  a  captive  to  the  feet  of  the  emperor.    Her  cap- 
ital soon  afterwards  surrendered,  and  was  treated  with  unexpect- 
ed lenity.    The  arms,  horses,  and  camels,  with  an  immense  treas- 
ure of  gold,  silver,  silk,  and  precious  stones,  were  all  delivered  to 
the  conqueror,  who,  leaving  only  a  garrison  of  six  hundred  archers,  210 
returned  to  Emesa,  and  employed  some  time,  in  the  distribution 
of  rewards  and  punishments  at  the  end  of  so  memorable  a  war, 
which  restored  to  the  obedience  of  Rome  those  provinces  that 
had  renounced  their  allegiance  since  the  captivity  of  Valerian. 

10.  When  the  Syrian  queen  was  brought  into  the  presence  of  215 
Aurelian,  he  sternly  asked  her  how  she  had  presumed  to  rise  in 
arms  against  the  emperors  of  Rome !     The  answer  of  Zenobia 
was  a  prudent  mixture.  of  respect  and  firmness  :  "  Because  I  dis- 
dained to  consider  as  Roman  emperors  an  Aureolus  or  a  Gallie- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 194,  195.  But  fortune  .  .  .  obstacle.  Observe  that 
this  proposition,  which  logically  connects  itself  with  the  preceding  proposition 
as  part  of  a  compound  sentence,  is  made  a  separate  sentence. 

198,  199.  by  the  arms  .  .  .  emperor.     Express  in  other  language. 

217-221.  The  answer  .  .  .  sorereign.  Show  how  Zenobia's  answer  was  a 
"  prudent  mixture  of  respect  and  firmness." — Who  was  "  Aureolus  ?"  "  Gal- 
lienus  ?" 


GIBBON. 

nus.     You  alone  I  acknowledge  as  my  conqueror  and  my  sov-zzo 
ereign."     But  as  female  fortitude  is  commonly  artificial,  so  it  is 
seldom  steady  or  consistent.     The  courage  of  Zenobia  deserted 
her  in  the  hour  of  trial.     She  trembled  at  the  angry  clamors  of 
the  soldiers,  who  called  aloud  for  her  immediate  execution,  forgot 
the  generous  despair  of  Cleopatra,  which  she  had  proposed  as  225 
her  model,  and  ignominiously  purchased  life  by  the  sacrifice  of 
her  fame  and  her  friends.     It  was  to  their  counsels,  which  gov- 
erned the  weakness  of  her  sex,  that  she  imputed  the  guilt  of  her 
obstinate  resistance ;  it  was  on  their  heads  that  she  directed  the 
vengeance  of  the  cruel  Aurelian.     The  fame  of  Longinus,  who  230 
was  included  among  the  numerous  and  perhaps  innocent  victims 
of  her  fear,  will  survive  that  of  the  queen  who  betrayed,  or  the 
tyrant  who  condemned  him.     Genius  and  learning  were  incapa- 
ble of  moving  a  fierce,  unlettered  soldier,  but  they  had  served  to 
elevate  and  harmonize  the  soul  of  Longinus.     Without  uttering  235 
a  complaint,  he  calmly  followed  the  executioner,  pitying  his  un- 
happy mistress,  and  bestowing  comfort  on  his  afflicted  friends. 

*#***#:** 

ii.  Since  the  foundation  of  Rome,  no  general  had  more  nobly 
deserved  a  triumph  than  Aurelian ;  nor  was  a  triumph  ever  cele- 
brated with  superior  pride  and  magnificence.  The  pomp  was  240 
opened  by  twenty  elephants,  four  royal  tigers,  and  above  two  hun- 
dred of  the  most  curious  animals  from  every  climate  of  the  north, 
the  east,  and  the  south.  They  were  followed  by  sixteen  hundred 
gladiators,  devoted  to  the  cruel  amusement  of  the  amphitheatre. 
The  wealth  of  Asia,  the  arms  and  ensigns  of  so  many  conquered  245 
nations,  and  the  magnificent  plate  and  wardrobe  of  the  Syrian 
queen,  were  disposed  in  exact  symmetry  or  artful  disorder.  The 
ambassadors  of  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  of  ^Ethiopia, 
Arabia,  Persia,  Bactriana,  India,  and  China,  all  remarkable  by 
their  rich  or  singular  dresses,  displayed  the  fame  and  power  250 
of  the  Roman  emperor,  who  exposed  likewise  to  the  public 
view  the  presents  that  he  had  received,  and  particularly  a  great 
number  of  crowns  of  gold,  the  offerings  of  grateful  cities.  The 
victories  of  Aurelian  were  attested  by  the  long  train  of  captives 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 221,  222.  But . . .  consistent.    Vary  the  phraseology. 
224,  225.  forgot . . .  Cleopatra.     Explain  the  historical  allusion. 


THE   OVERTHROW  OF  ZENOBIA.  269 

who  reluctantly  attended  his  triumph  —  Goths,  Vandals,  Sarma-2Ss 
tians,  Alemanni,  Franks,  Gauls,  Syrians,  and  Egyptians.     Each 
people  was  distinguished  by  its  peculiar  inscription,  and  the  title 
of  Amazons  was  bestowed  on  ten  martial  heroines  of  the  Gothic 
nation  who  had  been  taken  in  arms.     But  every  eye,  disregard- 
ing the  crowd  of  captives,  was  fixed  on  the  Emperor  Tetricus  260 
and  the  Queen  of  the  East.     The  former,  as  well  as  his  son, 
whom  he  had  created  Augustus,  was  dressed  in  Gallic  trousers, 
a  saffron  tunic,  and  a  robe  of  purple.     The  beauteous  figure  of 
Zenobia  was  confined  by  fetters  of  gold ;  a  slave  supported  the 
gold  chain  which  encircled  her  neck,  and   she   almost  fainted  26S 
under  the  intolerable  weight  of  jewels.     She  preceded  on  foot 
the  magnificent  chariot,  in  which  she  once  hoped  to  enter  the 
gates  of  Rome.     It  was  followed  by  two  other  chariots,  still 
more   sumptuous,  of  Odenathus   and  of  the   Persian  monarch. 
The  triumphal  car  of  Aurelian  (it  had  formerly  been  used  by  a  270 
Gothic  king)  was  drawn,  on  this  memorable  occasion,  either  by 
four  stags  or  by  four  elephants.     The  most  illustrious   of  the 
senate,  the  people,  and  the  army  closed  the  solemn  procession. 
Unfeigned  joy,  wonder,  and  gratitude  swelled  the  acclamations 
of  the  multitude ;  but  the  satisfaction  of  the  senate  was  clouded  275 
by  the  appearance  of  Tetricus ;  nor  could  they  suppress  a  rising 
murmur,  that  the  haughty  emperor  should  thus  expose  to  public 
ignominy  the  person  of  a  Roman  and  a  magistrate. 

12.  But,  however  in  the  treatment  of  his  unfortunate  rivals 
Aurelian  might  indulge  his  pride,  he  behaved  towards  them  with  280 
a  generous  clemency,  which  was  seldom  exercised  by  the  ancient 
conquerors.     Princes  who,  without  success,  had  defended  their 
throne  or  freedom,  were  frequently  strangled  in  prison,  as  soon 
as  the  triumphal  pomp  ascended  the  Capitol.     These  usurpers, 
whom  their  defeat  had  convicted  of  the  crime  of  treason,  were  285 
permitted  to  spend  their  lives  in  affluence  and  honorable  repose. 
The  emperor  presented  Zenobia  with  an  elegant  villa  at  Tibur, 
or  Tivoli,  about  twenty  miles  from  the  capital ;  the  Syrian  queen 
insensibly  sunk  into  a  Roman  matron,  her  daughters  married 
into  noble  families,  and  her  race  was  not  yet  extinct  in  the  fifth  29o 
century. 

260.  Tetricus.     See  note  to  line  2. 


XVII. 
ROBERT   BURNS. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

i.  We  love  Burns,  and  we  pity  him;  and  love  and  pity  are 
prone  to  magnify.  Criticism,  it  is  sometimes  thought,  should  be 
a  cold  business :  we  are  not  so  sure  of  this ;  but,  at  all  events, 
our  concern  with  Burns  is  not  exclusively  that  of  critics.  True 


CARLYLE'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  BURNS. 


271 


and  genial  as  his  poetry  must  appear,  it  is  not  chiefly  as  a  poet, 
but  as  a  man,  that  he  interests  and  affects  us.  He  was  often  ad- 
vised to  write  a  traged}- :  time  and  means  were  not  lent  him  for 
this  ;  but  through  life  he  enacted  a  tragedy,  and  one  of  the  deep- 
est. We  question  whether  the  world  has  since  witnessed  so  ut- 
terly sad  a  scene  ;  whether  Napoleon  himself,  left  to  brawl  with 
Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  and  perish  on  his  rock  "  amid  the  melancholy 
main,"  presented  to  the  reflecting  mind  such  a  "spectacle  of  pity 
and  fear  "  as  did  this  intrinsically  nobler,  gentler,  and  perhaps 
greater  soul,  wasting  itself  away  in  a  hopeless  struggle  with  base 
entanglements,  which  coiled  closer  and  closer  around  him,  till 
only  death  opened  him  an  outlet. 

2.  Conquerors  are  a  race  with  whom  the  world  could  well  dis- 
pense.   Nor  can  the  hard  intellect,  the  unsympathizing  loftiness, 
and  high  but  selfish  enthusiasm  of  such  persons  inspire  us,  in 
general,  with  any  affection :  at  best  it  may  excite  amazement  ; 
and  their  fall,  like  that  of  a  pyramid,  will  be  beheld  with  a  cer- 
tain sadness  and  awe.     But  a  true  poet,  a  man  in  whose  heart 
resides  some  effluence  of  wisdom,  some  tone  of  the  "  eternal 
melodies,"  is  the  most  precious  gift  that  can  be  bestowed  on  a 
generation.     We  see  in  him  a  freer,  purer  development  of  what- 
ever is  noblest  in  ourselves ;  his  life  is  a  rich  lesson  to  us,  and 
we  mourn  his  death  as  that  of  a  benefactor  who  loved  and 
taught  us. 

3.  Such  a  gift  had  Nature  in  her  bounty  bestowed  on  us  in 
Robert  Burns. ;  but  with  queen-like  indifference  she  cast  it  from 
her  hand,  like  a  thing  of  no  moment,  and  it  was  defaced  and 
torn  asunder,  as  an  idle  bauble,  before  we  recognized  it.   To  the 
ill-starred  Burns  was  given  the  power  of  making  man's  life  more 
venerable,  but  that  of  wisely  guiding  his  own  was   not  given. 
Destiny, — for  so,  in  our  ignorance,  we  must  speak, — his  faults,  the 
faults  of  others,  proved  too  hard  for  him  ;  and  that  spirit  which 
might  have  soared,  could  it  but  have  walked,  soon  sank  to  the 
dust,  its  glorious  faculties  trodden  under  foot  in  the  blossom, 
and  died,  we  may  almost  say,  without  ever  having  lived. 

4.  And  so  kind  and  warm  a  soul — so  full  of  inborn  riches,  of 
love  to  all  living  and  lifeless  things  !     How  his  heart  flows  out 
in   sympathy  over  universal  nature,  and  in  her  bleakest  prov- 
inces discerns  a  beauty  and  a  meaning !     The  "daisy  "  falls  not 


272  BURNS. 

unheeded  under  his  ploughshare ;  nor  the  ruined  nest  of  that 
•'*  wee,  cowering,  timorous  beastie,"  cast  forth,  after  all  its  prov- 
ident pains,  to  "  thole  the  sleety  dribble,  and  cranreuch  cauld." 
The  "  hoar  visage  "  of  Winter  delights  him.  He  dwells  with  a 
sad  and  oft-returning  fondness  in  these  scenes  of  solemn  deso- 
lation :  but  the  voice  of  the  tempest  becomes  an  anthem  to  his 
ears  ;  he  loves  to  walk  in  the  sounding  woods,  for  "  it  raises  his 
thoughts  to  Him  that  walketh  on  the  wings  of  the  wind''  A  true 
poet-soul,  for  it  needs  but  to  be  struck,  and  the  sound  it  yields 
will  be  music  ! 

5.  But  observe  him  chiefly  as  he   mingles  with  his  brother 
men.    What  warm,  all-comprehending,  fellow-feeling !  what  trust- 
ful, boundless  love !  what  generous  exaggeration  of  the  object 
loved  !     His  rustic  friend,  his  nut-brown  maiden,  are  no  longer 
mean  and  homely,  but  a  hero  and  a  queen,  whom  he  prizes  as 
the  paragons  of  earth.     The  rough  scenes  of  Scottish  life,  not 
seen  by  him  in  any  Arcadian  illusion,  but  in  the  rude  contradic- 
tion, in  the  smoke  and  soil  of  a  too  harsh  reality,  are  still  lovely 
to  him.     Poverty  is  indeed  his  companion,  but  Love  also,  and 
Courage  ;  the  simple  feelings,  the  worth,  the   nobleness,  that 
dwell  under  the  straw  roof,  are  dear  and  venerable  to  his  heart : 
and  thus  over  the  lowest  provinces  of  man's  existence  he  pours 
the  glory  of  his  own  soul ;  and  they  rise,  in  shadow  and  sun- 
shine, softened  and  brightened  into  a  beauty  which  other  eyes 
discern  not  in  the  highest. 

6.  And  so  did  our  Peasant  show  himself  among  us :  "a  soul 
like  an  ^Eolian  harp,  in  whose  strings  the  vulgar  wind,  as  it  passed 
through  them,  changed  itself  into  articulate  melody."     And  this 
was  he  for  whom  the  world  found  no  fitter  business  than  quar- 
relling with  smugglers  and  vintners,  computing  excise  dues  upon 
tallow,  and  gauging  ale-barrels !     In  such  toils  was  that  mighty 
spirit  sorrowfully  wasted  ;  and  a  hundred  years  may  pass  on  be- 
fore another  such  is  given  us  to  waste. 

7.  With  our  readers  in  general,  with  men  of  right  feeling  any- 
where, we  are  not  required  to  plead  for  Burns.     In  pitying  ad- 
miration, he   lies  enshrined  in   all   our  hearts,  in  a  far  nobler 
mausoleum  than  that  one  of  marble.     Neither  will  his  Works, 
even  as  they  are,  pass  away  from  the  memory  of  men.     While 
the  Shakespeares  and  Miltons  roll  on  like  mighty  rivers  through 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK'S  TRIBUTE   TO  BURNS.     273 

the  country  of  Thought,  bearing  fleets  of  traffickers  and  assidu- 
ous pearl-fishers  on  their  waves,  this  little  Valclusa  Fountain 
will  also  arrest  our  eye ;  for  this  also  is  of  Nature's  own  and 
most  cunning  workmanship,  bursts  from  the  depths  of  the  earth, 
with  a  full  gushing  current,  into  the  light  of  day  •  and  often  will 
the  traveller  turn  aside  to  drink  of  its  clear  waters,  and  muse 
among  its  rocks  and  pines ! 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK'S  TRIBUTE  TO  BURNS. 

1.  There  have  been  loftier  themes  than  his, 

And  longer  scrolls,  and  louder  lyres, 
And  lays  lit  up  with  Poesy's 
Purer  and  holier  fires  : 

2.  Yet  read  the  names  that  know  not  death ; 

Few  nobler  ones  than  Burns  are  there ; 
And  few  have  won  a  greener  wreath 
Than  that  which  binds  his  hair. 

3.  His  is  that  language  of  the  heart 

In  which  the  answering  heart  would  speak, 
Thought,  word,  that  bids  the  warm  tear  start, 
Or  the  smile  light  the  cheek; 

4.  And  his  that  music  to  whose  tone 

The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time, 
In  cot  or  castle's  mirth  or  moan, 
In  cold  or  sunny  clime. 

5.  And  who  hath  heard  his  song,  nor  knelt 

Before  its  spell  with  willing  knee, 
And  listened,  and  believed,  and  felt, 
The  poet's  mastery  ? 

6.  O'er  the  mind's  sea,  in  calm  and  storm, 

O'er  the  heart's  sunshine  and  its  showers, 
O'er  Passion's  moments,  bright  and  warm, 
O'er  Reason's  dark,  cold  hours ; 
18 


274  BURNS. 

7.  On  fields  where  brave  men  "  die  or  do," 

In  halls  where  rings  the  banquet's  mirth. 
Where  mourners  weep,  where  lovers  woo. 
From  throne  to  cottage  hearth  ? 

8.  What  sweet  tears  dim  the  eyes  unshed, 

What  wild  vows  falter  on  the  tongue, 
When  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled," 
Or  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  is  sung ! 

9.  Pure  hopes,  that  lift  the  soul  above, 

Come  with  his  "  Cotter's  "  hymn  of  praise, 
And  dreams  of  youth,  and  truth,  and  love 
With  "  Logan's  "  banks  and  braes. 

10.  And  when  he  breathes  his  master-lay 

Of  Alloway's  witch-haunted  wall, 
All  passions  in  our  frames  of  clay 
Come  thronging  at  his  call. 

11.  Imagination's  world  of  air, 

And  our  own  world,  its  gloom  and  glee, 
Wit,  pathos,  poetry,  are  there, 
And  death's  sublimity. 

12.  And  Burns — though  brief  the  race  he  ran, 

Though  rough  and  dark  the  path  he  trod— - 
Lived,  died,  in  form  and  soul  a  Man, 
The  image  of  his  God. 

13.  Through  care,  and  pain,  and  want,  and  woe, 

With  wounds  that  only  death  could  heal, 
Tortures  the  poor  alone  can  know, 
The  proud  alone  can  feel ; 

14.  He  kept  his  honesty  and  truth, 

His  independent  tongue  and  pen, 
And  moved  in  manhood  as  in  youth, 
Pride  of  his  fellow-men. 

15.  Praise  to  the  bard !  his  words  are  driven, 

Like  flower-seeds  by  the  far  winds  sown, 
Where'er  beneath  the  sky  of  heaven, 
The  birds  of  fame  have  flown. 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK'S   TRIBUTE   TO  BURNS. 

1 6.  Praise  to  the  man  !  a  nation  stood 

Beside  his  coffin  with  wet  eyes, — 
Her  brave,  her  beautiful,  her  good, — 
As  when  a  loved  one  dies. 

17.  Such  graves  as  his  are  pilgrim-shrines, 

Shrines  to  no  code  or  creed  confined — 
The  Delphian  vales,  the  Palestines, 
The  Meccas,  of  the  mind. 

18.  Sages,  with  Wisdom's  garland  wreathed, 

Crowned  kings,  and  mitred  priests  of  power, 
And  warriors  with  their  bright  swords  sheathed, 
The  mightiest  of  the  hour  • 

19.  And  lowlier  names,  whose  humble  home 

Is  lit  by  Fortune's  dimmer  star, 
Are  there — o'er  wave  and  mountain  come, 
From  countries  near  and  far  ; 

20.  Pilgrims,  whose  wandering  feet  have  pressed 

The  Switzer's  snow,  the  Arab's  sand, 
Or  trod  the  piled  leaves  of  the  West, 
My  own  green  forest  land. 

21.  All  ask  the  cottage  of  his  birth, 

Gaze  on  the  scenes  he  loved  and  sung, 
And  gather  feelings  not  of  earth 
His  fields  and  streams  among. 

22.  They  linger  by  the  Boon's  low  trees, 

And  pastoral  Nith,  and  wooded  Ayr, 
And  round  thy  sepulchres,  Dumfries ! 
The  poet's  tomb  is  there. 

23.  But  what  to  them  the  sculptor's  art, 

His  funeral  columns,  wreaths,  and  urns  f 
Wear  they  not  graven  on  the  heart 
The  name  of  Robert  Burns  ? 


275 


276 


BURNS. 


I.— THE   COTTER'S    SATURDAY   NIGHT. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  Cotter's l  Saturday  Night  was  written  by  Burns  in 
1785  (his  twenty-sixth  year).  It  was  dedicated  to  his  warm  friend  Robert 
Aiken,  a  legal  practitioner  in  the  town  of  Ayr,  Scotland,  and  at  once  attained 
a  popularity  which  it  still  holds,  not  only  in  the  bard's  native  land,  but  where- 
ever  the  English  language  is  spoken.  "It  is  easy,"  says  Hales,  "to  see  in 
this  piece  the  influence  of  Gray,  of  Goldsmith,  and  of  Pope  ,  but  easier  still  to 
observe  the  freshness  and  originality  of  it.  There  are  few,  if  any,  interiors  in 
our  literature  that  rival  the  one  here  given  for  truthfulness,  and  sincere  but 
not  exaggerated  sentiment." 

The  poem  is  written  partly  in  Scottish  (in  the  dialect  of  Ayrshire,  Burns's 
birthplace)  and  partly  in  English — the  more  homely  passages  being  in  the 
poet's  vernacular.  The  metre  is  the  Spenserian  stanza  of  nine  lines.] 

i.  My  loved,  my  honored,  much  respected  friend  I 

No  mercenary*  bard  his  homage  pays; 

With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  selfish  end : 

My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise. 

To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays, » 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequestered  scene ; 

The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways ; 
What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been ; 
Ah  !  though  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween  !  * 


NOTES.-— Line  I.  My  ...  friend.  Robert 

Aiken :  see  Introduction. 
4.  meed,  reward. 


6.  lowly  train.      See  Deserted  Village^ 

page  223,  line  252. 
9.  ween,  deem. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-9.  My  ...  ween !   Is  the  diction  of  this  stanza  main- 
ly English  or  Scottish  ?    Give  the  reason  for  your  opinion. 
2.  No  mercenary  bard.     Substitute  a  synonymous  expression. 
4.  Supply  the  omitted  verb  in  this  line. 

6.  The  . . .  scene.     Compare  with  the  line  in  Gray's  Elegy* 

"The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor," 

and  change  the  line  into  prose  diction. 

7.  The  native  feelings  strong.     Remark  on  the  older  of  words. 


1  Cotter,  "  one  who  inhabits  a  cot  or  cottage,  dependent  on  a  farm.' 


THE   COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

2.  November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh;* 

The  short'ning  winter-day  is  near  a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh : 

The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose : 

The  toil-worn  cotter  frae  his  labor  goes, — 
This  night  his  weekly  moil  *  is  at  an  end, — 

Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 
Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward  bend. 

3.  At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree ; 
Th'  expectant  wee  things,  toddlin',  stacher  through 

To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin'  noise  and. glee. 

His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinking  bonnily, 
His  clean  hearthstane,  his  thriftie  wiftVs  smile, 

The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 
Does  a'  his  weary  kiaugh  and  care  beguile, 
And  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  and  his  toil. 


277 


10.  wi'  angry  sngh:  that  is,  with  angry, 
sough,  or  moaning  sound. 

12.  beasts,  cattle. — frae  =  from. — pleugh 

—  plough. 

13.  craws  =  crows. 

1 7.  the  morn,  on  the  morrow,  next  day. 


19.  cot  =  cottage. 

21.  wee,  little. — stacher,  stagger. — tod. 

dlin',  walking  with  short  steps. 

22.  flichterin',  fluttering. 

23.  ingle,  fireplace. 
26.  kiaugh,  anxiety. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 10-18.  Noyember  .  . .  bend.  Observe  the  transition 
from  the  Anglicism  of  the  first  stanza  to  the  Scotticism  of  the  second  stanza. 
Select  the  Scottish  words,  or  forms  of  words. 

12,  13.  What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  these  two  lines? 

15.  night.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  "night?" 

17.  Hoping.     Of  what  word,  expressed  or  understood,  is  this  an  adjunct  ? 

18.  What  is  the  subject  of  "  does  bend  ?" — Compare  Gray's  Elegy,  page  196, 
Kine  3,  of  this  book. 

21,  22.  Th'  expectant .  . .  glee.     Express  the  thought  in  English  prose. 
24.  What  diminutival  form  occurs  in  this  line  ? 

26,  27.  Does  .  .  .  makes.  Can  you  justify  the  use  of  the  singular  number  in 
these  verbs  ? 


278 


BUXtfS. 


4.  Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drapping  in, 
At  service  out  amang  the  farmers  roun' : 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin 
A  cannie  errand  to  a  neibor  town  : 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman  grown, 
In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her  e'e, 

Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  show  a  braw  new  gown, 
Or  ddposite  her  sair-worn  penny-fee, 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 


5.  Wi'  joy  unfeigned,  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 
And  each  for  other's  welfare  kindly  spiers  : 
The  social  hours,  swift-winged,  unnoticed  fleet ; 
Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears. 
The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years; 
Anticipation  forward  points  the  view : 

The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  shears, 
Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weePs  the  new ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due. 


45 


6.  Their  master's  and  their  mistress's  command 

The  younkers  a'  are  warne'd  to  obey, 
An'  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent  hand, 

An'  ne'er,  though  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play : 


28.  Belyye,  by-and-by.  —  bairns,  chil- 
dren. 

30.  ca'  =  drive  (literally  call}.  —  tentie 

rin  =  run  needfully,  attentively. 

31.  cannie,  careful. 

34.  braw,  handsome. 

35.  sair-worn,  dearly  earned. — penny-fee, 

wages  paid  in  money. 


38.  spiers,  inquires. 

40.  uncos  =  news. 

44.  Gars,     makes,     compels.  —  claes, 

clothes.  —  amaist,    almost.  — 

weel's  =  well  as. 

47.  younkers,  youngsters. 

48.  eydent,  diligent. 

49.  jauk  =  trifle. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 28-36.  State  in  your  own  language  the  substance  of 
stanza  4. 
35.  Observe  the  accentuation. 

41.  eye  their  hopeful  years.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     (See  Def.  29.) 

42.  What  instance  of  personification  is  there  in  this  line? 


THE   COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

"  An'  oh,  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway ! 
An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 

Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 
Implore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright  I" 


279 


7.  But  hark  !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door  j  55 

Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 

The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 
Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  an'  flush  her  cheek;  60 

Wi'  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 
While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak ; 
Weel  pleased  the  mother  hears  its  nae  wild,  worthless  rake. 

8.  Wi'  kindly  welcome  Jenny  brings  him  ben — 

A  strappin'  youth  ;  he  taks  the  mother's  eye  ;  65 

Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  ta'en ; 

The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye.* 

The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 
But,  blate  an'  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave  f 

The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy  ?c 

What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  and  sae  grave 
Weel  pleased  to  think  her  bairn's  respected  like  the  lave. 


51.  duty,  prayers. 

52.  gang  =  go. 
56.  wha  =  who. 

58.  convoy  her,  see  her. 

62.  baffling  (merely  half),  partly. 


64.  bei 


that   is,   into   the   room 


(kitchen  and  parlor). 
67.  cracks,  talks. — kye,  cows. 
69.  blate,  bashful ;  laithfu',  hesitating. 
72.  the  lave,  the  rest. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 50.  An'  oh.  Observe  here  the  transition  from  the 
direct  to  the  oblique  form  of  narration. 

54.  They  .  .  .  aright.     Analyze  this  line. 

56.  wha  .  .  .  game.     What  kind  of  clause,  and  adjunct  to  what  ? 

59.  conscioug  flame.     Explain. 

65.  takg  the  mother's  eye.  Explain. — Why  "  eye  "  in  this  line  and  "  e'e  "  in 
60? 

67.  kye.     Give  an  allied  old  English  form  of  the  plural  of  cow. 


280 


BURNS. 


9.  O,  happy  love  ! — where  love  like  this  is  found  ! 

O  heart-felt  raptures  ! — bliss  beyond  compare  ! 
I've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal  round,  75 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare — 
"  If  heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare, 
One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 

'Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair 
In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale,  SQ 

Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  evening  gale." 

10.  Is  there  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart, 

A  wretch,  a  villain,  lost  to  love  and  truth, 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth  ?  85 

Curse  on  his  perjured  arts  !  dissembling  smooth  ! 
Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiled  ? 

Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth, 
Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child  ? 
Then  paints  the  ruined  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild  ?  90 

11.  But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

The  halesome  parritch,  chief  of  Scotia's  food ; 
The  soupe  their  only  hawkie  does  afford, 

That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood : 


88.  mth,  pity,  tenderness. 

92.  parritch,   porridge,   oatmeal  -  pud- 

ding. 

93.  soupe,  here  =  milk. — liawkie,  a  pet 


name  for  a  cow  (properly,  one 
with  a  white  face). 

94.  hallan,  a  screen  or  partition  between 
the  fireplace  and  the  dcor. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 73-Si  What  reason  can  you  give  for  the  transition 
to  the  English  diction  in  stanza  9,  continued  also  in  stanza  10  ? 

78.  cordial.  Is  the  word  here  used  literally  or  figuratively  ?— melancholy  vale. 
Explain. 

82.  Is  there.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

89.  Points.     What  is  the  subject  of  this  verb  ? 

94.  That.     What  is  the  antecedent  ? 


THE   COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


281 


The  dame  brings  forth,  in  complimental  mood, 
To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hained  kebbuck  fell, 

And  aft  he's  prest,  and  aft  he  ca's  it  guid ; 
The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell 
How  'was  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell. 


95 


12.  The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 
They  round  the  ingle  form  a  circle  wide. 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  with  patriarchal  grace, 
The  big  ha'  Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride ; 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside, 
His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  and  bare; 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 
He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care ; 
And  "  Let  us  worship  God  !"  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 


105 


13.  They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim: 
Perhaps  Dundee's  wild-warbling  measures  rise, 
Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  of  the  name, 


96.  weel-hained,  carefully  kept.  —  keb- 
buck, cheese. — fell,  tasty. 

99.  towmond,  twelvemonth.  —  sin'  lint 
was  i'  the  bell  —  since  flax  was  in 
flower.  (The -meaning  is  that 
the  cheese  was  a  year  old  last 
flax-blossoming.) 


103.  ha'  Bible,  family  Bible. 

105.  lyart,  mixed  gray. — haffets,  tem- 
ples. 

107.  wales,  chooses. 

1 1 1-1 13.  Dundee's . . .  measures,  Martyrs, 
Elgin,  well  -  known  Scottish 
psalm-tunes. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 95.  complimental.     Remark  on  the  form  of  the  word. 
96.  weel-hained  kebbuck  fell.     Remark  on  the  order  of  the  adjectives. 
100.  wi'  serious  face.     To  what  is  this  an  adjunct  ? 

1 06,  107.  Those  strains  .  .  .  care.     Transpose  into  the  prose  order,  supplying 
the  ellipsis. 

109.  guise.     What  does  the  word  mean  here  ? 
no.  by  ...  aim.     Grammatical  construction  ? 


282  BURNS. 

Or  noble  Elgin  beets  the  heavenward  flame, 
The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays  : 

Compared  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame;  rt5 

The  tickled  ear  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

14.  The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page — 

How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high ; 
Or  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage  »*> 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny ; 

Or  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 
Beneath  the  stroke  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire ; 

Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry ; 
Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild  seraphic  fire ;  125 

Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

15.  Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme — 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed ; 
How  He  who  bore  in  heaven  the  second  name 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  his  head ;  130 

How  his  first  followers  and  servants  sped, 
The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land ; 

How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished, 
Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand, 

And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounced  by  Heaven's  135 
command. 


113.  beets  the  ...  flame  =  supplies  the  flame  with  fuel. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1 13.  beets  the  heavenward  flame.     What  is  the  figure 
of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  20.) 

115.  Italian  trills  are  tame.     What  do  you  think  of  Burns's  musical  judg- 
ment ? 

116.  raise.     Query  as  to  the  grammar. 

118-126.  In  stanza  14,  point  out  felicitous  combinations  of  words. 

127.  theme.     Meaning  of  the  word  here  ? 

133.  How  he,  who,  etc.     To  whom  is  the  reference  ? 


THE   COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  283 

1 6.  Then,  kneeling  down  to  heaven's  eternal  King, 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays 
(Hope  "  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing") 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days ;  140 

There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 
No  more  to  sigh  or  shed  the  bitter  tear; 

Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise, 
In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear ; 
While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere.  MS 

17.  Compared  with  this,  how  poor  religion's  pride, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method  and  of  art, 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide, 

Devotion's  every  grace,  except  the  heart ! 

The  power  incensed  the  pageant  will  desert,  150 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole ; 

But,  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 
May  hear,  well  pleased,  the  language  of  the  soul, 
And  in  His  book  of  life  the  inmates  poor  enroll. 

18.  Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  several  way:  155 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest; 
The  parent  pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 

That  He  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest, 
And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowery  pride,  160 

Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best, 
For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide, 
But  chiefly  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 


144.  society,  social  enjoyment. 
151.  stole,  a  long  narrow  scarf  with 
fringed  edges. 


155.  take  off,  depart. 
157.  secret  homage:  that  is,  private  de- 
votions. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 138.  prays.    Justify  the  use  of  the  singular  number 
here. 

145.  sphere.     What  is  meant  by  "  sphere  "  here  ? 
146-154.  Explain  stanza  17. 

155.  way.     Why  does  Burns  use  the  singular  form? 
159.  clam'rous  nesrt.     Explain. 


284  BURNS. 

19.  From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 

That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad :  165 

Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 

"An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God;" 

And  certes,  in  fair  Virtue's  heavenly  road, 
The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind; 

What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ? — a  cumbrous  load,  170 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  humankind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refined  ! 

20.  O  Scotia  !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent ! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil  175 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content ! 

And  oh !  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 
From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile  ! 

Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 
A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while,  180 

And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-loved  isle. 

21.  O  Thou  !  who  poured  the  patriotic  tide 

That  streamed  through  Wallace's  undaunted  heart; 
Who  dared  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride, 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part,  185 

(The  patriot's  God,  peculiarly  thou  art, 
His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward  !) 

Oh,  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert ; 
But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot  bard, 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard.  190 


166.  See  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village,  I  167.  See  Pope's  Essay  on  Man  (Epis- 
page  215,  line  53,  of  this  book.    I  tie  IV.,  line  247). 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 165.  That.     What  is  the  antecedent  ? 

169.  cottage  . . .  palace.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  29.) 

179.  crowns  and  coronets.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 

182.  poured  the  patriotic  tide.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  20.) 

183.  Wallace's  undaunted  heart.      Who  was  "Wallace?"     Did  Burns  com- 
memorate him  in  any  other  poem  ? 

184.  Who.     What  is  the  antecedent  ? 

185.  the  second  glorious  part.     Explain. 


TO   A   MOUNTAIN  DAISY. 


285 


II.— TO   A  MOUNTAIN   DAISY. 
ON  TURNING  ONE  DOWN  WITH   THE   PLOUGH,  IN  APRIL,  1786. 

1.  Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem. 

To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 
Thou  bonnie  gem. 

2.  Alas  !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet 

Wi'  spreckled  breast, 
When  upward  springing,  blythe  to  greet 
The  purpling  east. 

3.  Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early  humble  birth ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm, 

Scarce  reared  above  the  parent  earth 
Thy  tender  form. 

4.  The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield, 
High  sheltering  woods  an'  wa's  maun  shield; 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 
Unseen,  alane. 


5.  There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sunward  spread, 


2=5 


NOTES. — 3.  maun,  must.— stoure,  dust. 
9.  weet,  wet. 
15.  glinted,  glanced,  peeped. 


20.  na's,  walls. 

21.  bield,  shelter. 

23.  Adorns  =  adorn'st, — Mstie,  dry. 


286  BURNS. 

Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise : 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies  !  30 

6.  Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid, 
Sweet  flow'ret  of  the  rural  shade ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betrayed, 

And  guileless  trust, 

Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soiled,  is  laid  35 

Low  i'  the  dust. 

7.  Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred ! 
Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore,  40 

Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er ! 

8.  Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  given, 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striven, 

By  human  pride  or  cunning  driven  45 

To  misery's  brink, 
Till,  wrenched  of  every  stay  but  Heaven, 

He,  ruined,  sink ! 

9.  Even  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's  fate, 

That  fate  is  thine — no  distant  date ;  s° 

Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives,  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight. 

Shall  be  thy  doom. 


27.  lifts  =  lift'st.  39.  card,  compass. 


FOR  A>  THAT,  AND  A1  THAT. 


287 


III.— FOR  A'  THAT,  AND  A'  THAT. 

1.  Is  there  for  honest  poverty 

That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that  ? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Our  toils  obscure,  and  a'  that ; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  man  's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

2.  What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hoddin-grey,  and  a'  that ; 
Gie  folks  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine, 
A  man  's  a  man  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that ; 
The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 
Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

3.  Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that ; 
Though  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 
He  's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that ; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that; 
The  man  of  independent  mind, 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

4.  A  prince  can  mak'  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man  's  aboon  his  might, 
Guid  faith,  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 


NOTES. — 8.  gowd,  gold. 

10.  hoddin-grey,  woollen  cloth  of  a  coarse 

quality. 

11.  Gie  =  give. 


17.  birkie,   a   forward,   conceited   fe]« 

low. 

20.  coof,  a  blockhead. 
28.  fa'  that,  try  that. 


288  BURNS. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that;  30 

The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

5.  Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will,  for  a'  that, 

That  sense  and  worth  o'er  a'  the  earth,  35 

May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man,  the  warl'  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that.  4C 


36.  bear  the  gree,  be  victorious. 


XVIII. 

WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 

1770-1850. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  LOWELL.1 

i.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  in  Wordsworth  the  very  highest 
powers  of  the  poetic  mind  were  associated  with  a  certain  ten- 
dency to  the  diffuse  and  commonplace.  It  is  in  the  understand- 

1  From  Among  My  Books,  by  James  Russell  Lowell. 
19 


2o0  WORDSWORTH. 

ing  (always  prosaic)  that  the  great  golden  veins  of  his  imagina- 
tion are  imbedded.  He  wrote  too  much  to  write  always  well; 
for  it  is  not  a  great  Xerxes'  army  of  words,  but  a  compact  Greek 
ten  thousand,  that  march  safely  down  to  posterity.  He  set  tasks 
to  his  divine  faculty,  which  is  much  the  same  as  trying  to  make 
Jove's  eagle  do  the  service  of  a  clucking  hen.  Throughout 
"The  Prelude"  and  "The  Excursion"  he  seems  striving  to  bind 
the  wizard  Imagination  with  the  sand-ropes  of  dry  disquisition, 
and  to  have  forgotten  the  potent  spell-word  which  would  make 
the  particles  cohere.  There  is  an  arnaceous  quality  in  the  style 
which  makes  progress  wearisome.  Yet  with  what  splendors,  as  of 
mountain  sunsets,  are  we  rewarded  !  what  golden  rounds  of  verse 
do  we  not  see  stretching  heavenward  with  angels  ascending  and 
descending !  what  haunting  harmonies  hover  around  us,  deep  and 
eternal,  like  the  undying  baritone  of  the  sea  !  and  if  we  are  com- 
pelled to  fare  through  sand  and  desert  wildernesses,  how  often 
do  we  not  hear  airy  shapes  that  syllable  our  names  with  a  start- 
ling personal  appeal  to  our  highest  consciousness  and  our  no- 
blest aspiration,  such  as  we  wait  for  in  vain  in  any  other  poet ! 

2.  Wordsworth's  mind  had  not  that  reach  and  elemental 
movement  of  Milton's,  which,  like  the  trade-wind,  gathered  to  it- 
self thoughts  and  images,  like  stately  fleets,  from  every  quarter ; 
some  deep  with  silks  and  spicery,  some  brooding  over  the  silent 
thunders  of  their  battailous  armaments,  but  all  swept  forward  in 
their  destined  track,  over  the  long  billows  of  his  verse,  every 
inch  of  canvas  strained  by  the  unifying  breath  of  their  common 
epic  impulse.  It  was  an  organ  that  Milton  mastered,  mighty  in 
compass,  capable  equally  of  the  tempest's  ardors  or  the  slim 
delicacy  of  the  flute  ;  and  sometimes  it  bursts  forth  in  great 
crashes  through  his  prose,  as  if  he  touched  it  for  solace  in  the 
intervals  of  his  toil.  If  Wordsworth  sometimes  puts  the  trum- 
pet to  his  lips,  yet  he  lays  it  aside  soon  and  willingly  for  his  ap- 
propriate instrument,  the  pastoral  reed.  And  it  is  not  one  that 
grew  by  any  vulgar  stream,  but  that  which  Apollo  breathed 
through,  tending  the  flocks  of  Admetus, — that  which  Pan  en- 
dowed with  every  melody  of  the  visible  universe, — so  that  ever 
and  anon,  amid  the  notes  of  human  joy  or  sorrow,  there  comes 
suddenly  a  deeper  and  almost  awful  tone,  thrilling  us  into  dim 
consciousness  of  forgotten  divinity. 


LOWELL'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF   WORDSWORTH.  2gi 

3.  None  of  our  great  poets  can  be  called  popular  in  any  exact 
sense  of  the  word,  for  the  highest  poetry  deals  with  thoughts 
and  emotions  which  inhabit,  like  rarest  sea-mosses,  the  doubtful 
limits  of  that  shore  between  our  abiding  divine  and  our  fluctu- 
ating human  nature,  rooted  in  the  one,  but  living  in  the  other, 
seldom  laid  bare  and  otherwise  visible  only  at  exceptional  mo- 
ments of  entire  calm  and  clearness.  Of  no  other  poet,  except 
Shakespeare,  have  so  many  phrases  become  household  words  as 
of  Wordsworth.  If  Pope  has  made  current  more  epigrams  of 
worldly  wisdom,  to  Wordsworth  belongs  the  nobler  praise  of 
having  defined  for  us,  and  given  us  for  a  daily  possession,  those 
faint  and  vague  suggestions  of  other  world  lines,  of  whose  gentle 
ministry  with  our  baser  nature  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  life 
scarcely  ever  allowed  us  to  be  conscious.  He  has  won  for  him- 
self a  secure  immortality  by  the  depth  of  intuition  which  makes 
only  the  best  minds  at  their  best  hours  worthy,  or  indeed  capa- 
ble, of  his  companionship,  and  by  a  homely  sincerity  of  human 
sympathy  which  reaches  the  humblest  heart.  Our  lan^uagie 
owes  him  gratitiidoJor  the  habitual  purity  and  abstinence  of  his 
Style,  ancj  we  who  <;ppak  i^  fnr  having  fMnhnlftenerl  im  tp  take 
delight  in  simple  things,  and  fr>  trust  ourselves  to  our  own  in- 
gtincts.  And  he  hath  his  reward.  It  needs  not  to  bid 

"  Renowned  Chaucer  lie  a  thought  more  nigh 
To  rare  Beaumond,  and  learned  Beaumond  lie 
A  little  nearer  Spenser  ;" 

for  there  is  nT>  fear  of  crowding  in  that  little  society  with  whom 
he  is  now  enrolled  as  fifth  in  the  succession  of  the  great  Eng- 
lish poets. 


/ 


292 


WORDSWORTH. 


INTIMATIONS   OF   IMMORTALITY   FROM    RECOLLECTIONS 
OF   EARLY   CHILDHOOD. 

The  child  is  father  of  the  man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

[INTRODUCTION.  —  This  noble  ode,  characterized  by  Emerson  as  the  "  high- 
water  mark  of  English  thought  in  the  igth  century,"  was  composed  partly  in 
^803  and  partly  in  1806.  The  mood  of  mind  out  of  which  it  grew  is  set  forth 
by  Wordsworth  himself  in  an  explanatory  piece,  herewith  appended.  (See 
page  300.)  It  may  be  noted  that  the  word  "immortality"  in  the  title  is  used 
in  a  larger  sense  than  its  ordinary  meaning  :  it  implies  not  only  deathlessness, 
but  eternality  of  existence  ;  that  is,  eternal  pre-existence  as  well  as  eternal  fu- 
ture existence.] 


There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 

To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled*  in  celestial  light, 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore  ;* 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 
By  night  or  day, 
/The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more.) 


NOTES.— Line  6.  of  yore.  Not  in  the 
sense  of  olden  times,  but  as  re- 
lated to  the  poet's  own  experi- 


ence as  expressed  in  the  first 
line — "  There  was  a  time  when 
meadow,  grove,"  etc. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1-5.  Analyze  the  first  sentence. 
4.  What  is  the  primitive  meaning  of  "  Apparelled  ?" 

1-9.  Show  the  antithesis  in  the  first  stanza. — Compare  the  first  stanza  with 
this  from  Shelley : 

"  Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  flight: 
Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar 
Move  my  faint  breast  with  grief,  but  with  delight 
No  more— O  never  more!" 


INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY. 


293 


II. 

The  rainbow  comes  and  goes, 

And  lovely  is  the  rose. 

The  moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare  ; 

Waters  on  a  starry  night 

Are  beautiful  and  fair  ; 
The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth ; 
But  vet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 

III. 

Now,  while  the  birds  thus  sing^  a  joyous  song,         ^ 
And  while  the  young  lamh.s  hnnn4, 

As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 
To  mf*  a  Inn**  th^rfr  fram°  n  fhonght f. 


A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 

And  I  again  am  strong  : 

The  "atara^ts  bl^w  rhfijr  trumpets  from  the  steep  ; 
No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong ; 
I  hear  the  echoes  through  the  mountains  throng, 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep, 
And  all  the  earth  is  gay  ; 

Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity, 


21.  tabor,  a  small  drum. 

22.  To  me  alone  there  came  =  to    me 

there  came  only. 

25.  Tke  cataracts.  Wordsworth  has  in 
his  mind  the  many  falls  of  the 
beautiful  English  "  Lake  coun- 
try," where  he  lived. 


28.  the  fields  of  sleep :  that  is,  "  the  yet 
reposeful,  slumbering  country 
side.  It  is  early  morning,  and 
the  land  is  still,  as  it  were,  rest- 
ing." 

3 1.  jollity.  See  L1  Allegro,  page  50, 
line  1 8,  of  this  book. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 10-18.  Express  briefly  (and  in  general  terms)  the 
idea  contained  in  stanza  ii. 

26.  No  more  .  . .  wrong.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  20.) — Ex- 
press the  thought  in  plainer  language. 

30,  31.  .Land  . . .  jollity.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  22.) 


294 


WORDSWORTH. 

And  with  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  ^beaslieepJioliday  ; — 

Thou  child  of  joy, 

Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shout,  thou  happy 
Shepherd  boy  ! 


IV. 
Ye  blessed  creatures,  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make,  I  see 
The  heavens  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee;* 
My  hf*nrtj3  nt  ynnr  ff^tivnl, 
My  head  hath  its  coronal^ 
The  fulness  of  your  bliss  I  feel — I  feel  it  all. 
Oh  evil  day  !  if  I  were  sullen 
While  the  Earth  herself  is  adorning 

This  sweet  May  morning, 
And  the  children  are  pulling, 

On  every  side, 

In  a  thousand  valleys  far  and  wide, 
Fresh  flowers ;  while  {he  ^nn  gTn'npg 


And  the  babe  leaps  up  on  his  mother's  ajm  : — 
I  hear,  I  hear,  with  joy  I  hear ! 
— But  there's  a  tree,  of  many  one, 
A  single  field  which  I  have  looked  upon, 
Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone 
The  pansy  *  at  my  feet 
Doth  the  same  tale  repeat : 
Whither  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ? 


55 


37.  Ye  blessed  creatures :  that  is,  the  ob- 
jects of  nature,  animate  and  in- 
animate, mentioned  in  the  pre- 
ceding stanza. 

39.  jubilee,  shout  of  joy. 


41.  coronal,  a  crown  or  garland  (as  at 
banquets  in  the  days  of  Greece 
and  Rome). 

57.  visionary  =  vision-like. 

58.  dream.     See  line  5. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 32.  with  heart  of  May.     Vary  the  phraseology. 
39,  41,  55.  Give  the  etymology  of  "jubilee  ;"  "coronal ;"  "pansy." 
44,  49.  What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  "  herself?"    Of  "  flowers  ?" 
58.  is  ...  dream!     How  do  you  justify  "  is  "  and  " it "  where  the  reference 
is  to  "  the  glory  and  the  dream  ?"  » 


INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY. 

v'  ^ 

Our  birth  is  hut  q  sleep  qnH  a  forgetting  :         / 

The  soul  thatjis£s  with  us     our  life's  star —   J  60 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  cometh  from  afar, 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness,  j 

But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come  \      ft  6S 

From  God,  who  is  our  home. 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ; 
Shades  of  the  prisnn-hnu?^  hpgin  rn  rl^gf*  ^  j 

Upon  the  growing  boy  ; 
But  He  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows,  7o 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy ; 
The  youth  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel  still  is  nature's  priest. 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended ;  7S 

At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 


59.  a  forgetting :  that  is,  a  forgetting  of 
what  took  place  in  the  ante- 
natal life.  The  doctrine  of  pre- 
existence  was  held  by  Plato  and 


Pythagoras  (as  well  as  by  the 
seers  of  Egypt  and  India).  Per- 
haps to  every  fine  soul  the 
thought  comes  in  flashes. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 59.  Onr  birth,  etc.  The  transition  of  thought  here 
is,  perhaps,  somewhat  abrupt.  There  was  an  interval  of  more  than  two  years 
between  the  writing  of  stanza  iv.  and  that  of  stanza  v.  —  Stanza  v.  may  be 
committed  to  memory. 

63-66.  forgetfulness  .  .  .  our  home.  Compare  the  poet  Campbell's  remark  : 
"Children  have  so  recently  come  out  of  the  hands  of  their  Creator,  that  they 
have  not  had  time  to  lose  the  impress  of  their  divine  origin." 

67-77.  With  the  thought  in  these  lines  compare  the  exquisitely  tender  verses 
of  Hood  :  "  I  remember,  I  remember, 

The  fir-trees  dark  and  high ; 
I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky. 
"  It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 
To  know  I  'm  farther  off  from  heaven 
Than  when  I  -was  a  boy" 

72-75.  The  youth  .  .  .  attended.     Transpose  into  the  prose  order. 


296 


WORDSWORTH. 


VI. 

Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own  ^ 

Yearnings  she  hath  in  her  own  natural  kjnd. 

And,  even  with  something  of  a  mother's  mindj 
And  no  unworthy  aim, 
The  homely  nurse  doth  all  she  can 

To  make  her  foster-child,  her  inmate  man, 
Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known, 

And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came. 

VII. 

Behold  the  child  among  his  new-born  blisse 
A  six  years'  darling  of  a  pigmny*  gjy.e  i 
See,  where  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies, 
Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses, 
With  light  upon  him  from  his  father's  eyes  ! 
See,  at  his  feet,  some  little  plan  or  chart, 
Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  human  life, 
Shaped  by  himself  with  newly  learned  art — 
A  wedcfing  or  a  festival,  a  mourning  or  a  funeral — 

And  this  hath  now  his  heart, 
And  unto  this  he  frames  his  song. 

Then  will  he  fit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife  ; 
But  it  will  not  be  long 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside, 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 
The  little  actor  cons  another  part — 


c/. 


90 


86,  87.  the  child  ...  A  six  years'  darling. 
Though  the  idea  applies  to 
childhood  in  general,  Words- 


worth had  in  his  mind  a  par- 
ticular child  —  Hartley  Cole- 
ridge. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  78-85.  Express  in  your  own  words  the  idea   in 
stanza  vi. 

78.  fills  her  lap.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

82,  83.  homely  nurse  . . .  foster-child.     Explain  these  expressions. 

89.  Fretted.     What  is  the  meaning  of  the  word  as  here  used  ? 

102.  The  little  actor  cons,  etc.     Is  the  language  here  literal  or  figurative  i 


INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY. 


297 


Filling  from  time  to  time  his  "  humorous  stage  " 

With  all  the  persons,  down  to  palsied  age, 

That  life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage  ;  105 

As  if  his  whole  vocation  were  endless  imitation. 

VIII. 

rrlanre  rlnfh 


T'liv  Qmi1?<i  immpng^ty  J 

Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 

Thy  heritage  !  thou  eye  among  the  blind,  "<* 

That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep 

Haunted  forever  by  the  eternal  mind  — 

Mighty  prophet  !     Seer  blest, 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest, 

Which  we  are  toiling  all  bur  lives  to  find,  us 

In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave  ! 
Thou  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  day,  a  master  o'er  a  slave, 
A  presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by  ! 

Thou  little  child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might  .  120 

Of  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height, 
Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  provoke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke, 
Thus  blindly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife  ? 
Full  soon  thy  soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight,  125 

And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life  ! 


104.  persons  =  Lai.  fersona. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 103.  "humorous  stage."  From  what  author  is  this 
expression  quoted  ? 

107.  Thou.     See  note  to  lines  86,  87. 

107,  1 08.  whose  .  . .  immensity.     Express  the  thought  in  your  own  words. 

109,  no.  who  yet ...  heritage.     Explain  by  reference  to  line  67. 

no.  thou  eye.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 

116.  This  line  was  omitted  by  the  author  in  a  later  edition.  It  is  wanted 
for  the  rhyme's  sake. 

125.  thy  soul  shall  have,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

126.  custom.     Explain  the  word  as  here  used. 


298 


WORDSWORTH. 

IX. 

O  joy  !  that  in  our  embers 

Is  something  that  doth  live, 

That  nature  yet  remembers  130 

What  was  so  fugitive. 

The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction  :  not,  indeed, 

"pr>f  fhn|  \yliirh  i-s  mnt;t  worthy  rn  he  frlesf. 

TteHpr^f  and  Ijhertv.  the  simple  creed  135 

Of  childhoodT  whether  busy  or  at  rest. 

Witruiew-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in 


The,  song  of  thanks  and  praise  : 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings  )  MO 

Of  sense  and  outward  things,  ( 

Fallings  from  us,,  vanishings  ;  J 

Blank  misgivings  of  a'  creature        J 

Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized, 

High  instincts  before  which  our  mortal  nature  145 

Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised  ! 
But  for  those  first  affections, 
Those  shadowy  recollections, 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 

Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day,  150 

Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing  ; 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 

Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 

Of  the  eternal  Silence  :  truths  that  wake, 

To  perish  never  ;  i55 

Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavor, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 140.  obstinate  questionings.  See  Wordsworth's  note, 
page  300. 

142.  Fallings  from  us,  vanishings :  that  is,  fits  of  utter  dreaminess  and  ab- 
straction, when  nothing  material  seems  solid,  but  everything  mere  mist  and 
shadow. 

153.  seem  moments:  that  is,  seem  but  moments. 


INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY. 

Nor  man  nor  boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy ! 

Hence,  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither, 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 

X. 

Then  sing,  ye  birds,  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song 
f  And  let  the  young  lambs  bound 

As  to  the  tabor's  sound ! 
We  in  thought  will  join  your  throng, 

Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play, 
Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 
Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May ! 
What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  t 
Be  now  forever  taken  from  my  sight, 
/Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 
I  Of  splendor  in  the  grass1  of  fflory  I'D  thp  flower 

We  Will  grieve  nnt rather  firtrl 

Strength  in  what  remains  behipd ; 
In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which,  having  been,  must  ever  be ; 
In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring- 
Out  of  human  suffering : 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death. 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 


299 


160 


165 


rht 


180 


185 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 160-166.  The  pupil  will  observe  the  grandeur  of 
the  thought  imaged  in  these  splendid  lines,  which  should  be  committed  to 
memory. 

167-169.  Then  sing  .  . .  sound.     What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically? 

174-185.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? 

185.  In  ...  mind.     Explain. 


300  WORDSWORTH. 


XI. 

And  O  ye  fountains,  meadows,  hills,  and 

Forebode  not  any  severing  of  our  loves  ! 

Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  your  miffhtj     n 

I  only  have  relinquished  one  delight, 

To  live  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway.  190 

I  love  the  brooks  which  down  their  channels  fret, 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  they ; 

The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  day 

Is  lovely  yet ; 

The  clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun  195 

Do  take  a  sober  coloring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality ! 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live, 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears,  •%  200 

To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  giveS 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears.    I 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 189.  only.     What  does  the  word  modify? 
201,  202.  With  what  beautiful  thought  does  the  poem  close? 


NOTE  BY  WORDSWORTH.  —  This  was  composed  during  my  residence  at 
Town-End,  Grasmere.  Two  years  at  least  passed  between  the  writing  of  the 
first  four  stanzas  and  the  remaining  part.  To  the  attentive  and  competent 
reader  the  whole  sufficiently  explains  itself,  but  there  may  be  no  harm  in  ad- 
verting here  to  particular  feelings  or  experiences  of  my  own  mind  on  which 
the  structure  of  the  poem  partly  rests.  Nothing  was  more  difficult  for  me  in 
childhood  than  to  admit  the  notion  of  death  as  a  state  applicable  to  my  own 
being.  I  have  elsewhere  said, 

A  simple  child 

That  lightly  draws  its  breath 

And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 

What  should  it  know  of  death? 

But  it  was  not  so  much  from  the  source  of  animal  vivacity  that  my  difficulty 
came  as  from  a  sense  of  the  indomitableness  of  the  spirit  within  me.  I  used 
to  brood  over  the  stories  of  Enoch  and  Elijah,  and  almost  persuade  myself 
that,  whatever  might  become  of  others,  I  should  be  translated  in  something 
of  the  same  way  to  heaven.  With  a  feeling  congenial  to  this,  I  was  often 
unable  to  think  of  external  things  as  having  external  existence,  and  I  com- 


INTIMATIONS   OF  IMMORTALITY.  301 

muned  with  all  that  I  saw  as  something  not  apart  from,  but  inherent  in,  my 
own  immaterial  nature.  Many  times  while  going  to  school  have  I  grasped  at 
a  wall  or  tree  to  recall  myself  from  this  abyss  of  idealism  to  the  reality.  At 
that  time  I  was  afraid  of  mere  processes.  In  later  periods  of  life  I  have  de- 
plored, as  we  have  all  reason  to  do,  a  subjugation  of  an  opposite  character, 
and  have  rejoiced  over  the  remembrances,  as  is  expresred  in  the  lines  Obsti- 
nate Questionings,  etc.  To  that  dreamlike  vividness  and  splendor  which  in- 
vests objects  of  sight  in  childhood,  every  one,  I  believe,  if  he  would  look  back, 
could  bear  testimony,  and  I  need  not  dwell  upon  it  here ;  but  having  in  the 
poem  regarded  it  as  a  presumptive  evidence  of  a  prior  state  of  existence,  I 
.think  it  right  to  protest  against  a  conclusion  which  has  given  pain  to  some 
good  and  pious  persons,  that  I  meant  to  inculcate  such  a  belief.  It  is  far  too 
shadowy  a  notion  to  be  recommended  to  faith  as  more  than  an  element  in  our 
instincts  of  immortality.  But  let  us  bear  in  mind  that  though  the  idea  is  not 
advanced  in  Revelation,  there  is  nothing  there  to  contradict  it,  and  the  fall  of 
man  presents  an  analogy  in  its  favor.  Accordingly,  a  pre-existent  state  has 
entered  into  the  creed  of  many  nations,  and  among  all  persons  acquainted 
with  classic  literature  is  known  as  an  ingredient  in  Platonic  philosophy. 
Archimedes  said  that  he  could  move  the  world  if  he  had  a  point  whereon  to 
rest  his  machine.  Who  has  not  felt  the  same  aspirations  as  regards  his  own 
mind  ?  Having  to  wield  some  of  its  elements  when  I  was  impelled  to  write 
this  poem  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  I  took  hold  of  the  notion  of  pre- 
existence  as  having  sufficient  foundation  in  humanity  for  authorizing  me  to 
make  for  my  purpose  the  best  use  of  it  I  could  as  a  poet. 


XIX. 

WALTER   SCOTT. 

1771-1832. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  R.  H.  HUTTON.1 

i.  The  most  striking  feature  of  Scott's  romances  is  that,  for 
the  most  part,  they  are  pivoted  on  public  rather  than  mere  pri- 
vate interests  and  passions.  With  but  few  exceptions — The  An- 

1  From  Sir  Waller  Scott,  by  Richard  H.  Hutton. 


BUTTON'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  SCOTT.  303 

tiquary,  St.  Ronan^s  Well,  and  Guy  Mannering  are  the  most  im- 
portant— Scott's  novels  give  us  an  imaginative  view,  not  of  mere 
individuals,  but  of  individuals  as  they  are  affected  by  the  public 
strifes  and  social  divisions  of  the  age.  And  this  it  is  which  gives 
his  books  so  large  an  interest  for  old  and  young,  soldiers  and 
statesmen,  the  world  of  society  and  the  recluse  alike.  You  can 
hardly  read  any  novel  of  Scott's  and  not  become  better  aware 
what  public  life  and  political  issues  mean.  And  yet  there  is  no 
artificiality,  no  elaborate  attitudinizing  before  the  antique  mir- 
rors of  the  past,  like  Bulwer's,  no  dressing-out  of  clothes-horses> 
like  G.  P.  R.  James.  The  boldness  and  freshness  of  the  present 
are  carried  back  into  the  past,  and  you  see  Papists  and  Puritans, 
Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  Jews,  Jacobites,  and  freebooters, 
preachers,  school-masters,  mercenary  soldiers,  gypsies,  and  beg- 
gars, all  living  the  sort  of  life  which  the  reader  feels  that  in  their 
circumstances,  and  under  the  same  conditions  of  time  and  place 
and  parentage,  he  might  have  lived,  too.  Indeed,  no  man  can 
read  Scott  without  being  more  of  a  public  man,  whereas  the  or- 
dinary novel  tends  to  make  its  readers  rather  less  of  one  than 
before. 

2.  Next,  though  most  of  these  stories  are  rightly  called  ro- 
mances, no  one  can  avoid  observing  that  they  give  that  side  of 
life  which  is  unromantic  quite  as  vigorously  as  the  romantic  side. 
This  was  not  true  of  Scott's  poems,  which  only  expressed  one 
half  of  his  nature,  and  were  almost  pure  romances.  But  in  the 
novels  the  business  of  life  is  even  better  portrayed  than  its  sen- 
timents. Indeed,  it  was  because  Scott  so  much  enjoyed  the 
contrasts  between  the  high  sentiments  of  life  and  its  dry  and 
often  absurd  detail,  that  his  imagination  found  so  much  freer  a 
vent  in  the  historical  romance  than  it  ever  found  in  the  romantic 
poem.  Yet  he  clearly  needed  the  romantic  excitement  of  pict- 
uresque scenes  and  historical  interests,  too.  I  do  not  think  he 
would  ever  have  gained  any  brilliant  success  in  the  narrower  re- 
gion of  the  domestic  novel.  He  said  himself,  in  expressing  his 
admiration  of  Miss  Austen :  "  The  big  bow-wow  strain  I  can  do 
myself,  like  any  now  going,  but  the  exquisite  touch  which  renders 
ordinary  commonplace  things  and  characters  interesting,  from 
the  truth  of  the  description  and  the  sentiments,  is  denied  to  me." 
Indeed,  he  tried  it  to  some  extent  in  St.  Ronarts  Well,  and,  so  far 


304  SCOTT. 

as  he  tried  it,  I  think  he  failed.  Scott  needed  a  certain  large- 
ness of  type,  a  strong-marked  class-life,  and,  where  it  was  possi- 
ble, a  free,  out-of-doors  life,  for  his  delineations.  No  one  could 
paint  beggars  and  gypsies,  and  wandering  fiddlers,  and  mercenary 
soldiers,  peasants  and  farmers  and  lawyers,  and  magistrates,  and 
preachers,  and  courtiers,  and  statesmen,  and,  best  of  all,  perhaps,, 
queens  and  kings,  with  anything  like  his  ability. 

3. 1  think  the  deficiency  of  his  pictures  of  women,  odd  as  it  seems 
to  say  so,  should  be  greatly  attributed  to  his  natural  chivalry.  His 
conception  of  women  of  his  own  or  a  higher  class  was  always 
too  romantic.  He  hardly  ventured,  as  it  were,  in  his  tenderness 
for  them,  to  look  deeply  into  their  little  weaknesses  and  intrica- 
cies of  character.  With  women  of  an  inferior  class,  he  had  not 
this  feeling.  Nothing  can  be  more  perfect  than  the  manner  in 
which  he  blends  the  dairy -women  and  women  of  business  in 
Jeanie  Deans  with  the  lover  and  the  sister.  But  once  make  a 
woman  beautiful,  or  in  any  way  an  object  of  homage  to  him,  and 
Scott  bowed  so  low  before  the  image  of  her  that  he  could  not  go 
deep  into  her  heart.  He  could  no  more  have  analyzed  such  a 
woman,  as  Thackeray  analyzed  Lady  Castlewood,  or  Amelia,  or 
Becky,  or  as  George  Eliot  analyzed  Rosamond  Vincy,  than  he 
could  have  vivisected  Camp  or  Maida.1  To  some  extent,  there- 
fore, Scott's  pictures  of  women  remain  something  in  the  style  of 
the  miniatures  of  the  last  age — bright  and  beautiful  beings  with- 
out any  special  character  in  them.  He  was  dazzled  by  a  fair 
heroine.  He  could  not  take  them  up  into  his  imagination  as  real 
beings  as  he  did  men.  But  then  how  living  are  his  men,  whether 
coarse  or  noble  ! 

4.  Some  of  the  finest  touches  of  Scott's  humor  are  no  doubt 
much  heightened  by  his  perfect  command  of  the  genius  as  well 
as  the  dialect  of  a  peasantry  in  whom  a  true  culture  of  mind  and 
sometimes  also  of  heart  is  found  in  the  closest  possible  contact 
with  the  humblest  pursuits  and  the  quaintest  enthusiasm  for 
them.  But  Scott,  with  all  his  turn  for  irony — and  Mr.  Lockhart 
says  that  even  on  his  death-bed  he  used  towards  his  children  the 
same  sort  of  good-humored  irony  to  which  he  had  always  accus- 
tomed them  in  his  life — certainly  never  gives  us  any  example  of 

1  Scott's  dogs. 


THE   CHRISTIAN  KNIGHT.  305 

that  highest  irony  which  is  found  so  frequently  in  Shakespeare, 
which  touches  the  paradoxes  of  the  spiritual  life  of  the  children 
of  earth,  and  which  reached  its  highest  point  in  Isaiah.  The 
irony  of  Hamlet  is  far  from  Scott.  His  imagination  was  essen- 
tially one  of  distinct  embodiment.  He  never  even  seemed  so 
much  as  to  contemplate  that  sundering  of  substance  and  form, 
that  rending  away  of  outward  garments,  that  unclothing  of  the 
soul,  in  order  that  it  might  be  more  effectually  clothed  upon, 
which  is  at  the  heart  of  anything  that  may  be  called  spiritual 
irony.  The  constant  abiding  of  his  mind  within  the  well-defined 
forms  of  some  one  or  other  of  the  conditions  of  outward  life  and 
manners,  among  the  scores  of  different  spheres  of  human  habit, 
was,  no  doubt,  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  genius ;  but  it  was  also 
its  greatest  limitation. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   KNIGHT  AND   THE   SARACEN   CAVALIER. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  passage  at  arms  here  given  forms  the  introductory 
chapter  of  Scott's  novel  of  the  Talisman,  the  finest  of  his  Oriental  romances. 
The  "Christian  Knight"  is  the  hero  of  the  tale,  and  the  "  Saracen  Cavalier" 
is  Saladin.  The  portraits  are  drawn  with  great  power.] 

i.  The  burning  sun  of  Syria  had  not  yet  attained  its  highest 
point  in  the  horizon,  when  a  knight  of  the  Red  Cross  who  had 
left  his  distant  northern  home,  and  joined  the  host  of  the  cru- 
saders in  Palestine,  was  pacing  slowly  along  the  sandy  deserts 
which  lie  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Dead  Sea,  where  the  waves  of  the  5 
Jordan  pour  themselves  into  an  inland  sea,  from  which  there  is 
no  discharge  of  waters. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — To  what  class  of  literary  composition  does  the  Tal- 
isman belong  ?  Ans.  To  the  historical  novel. 

1-7.  The  burning . . .  waters.  Observe  the  masterly  manner  in  which,  in  a 
single  sentence,  the  scene  and  the  principal  actor  in  the  romance  are  brought 
before  the  reader's  imagination. — By  what  form  of  words  does  Scott  make  the 
statement  that  it  was  not  yet  noon  ? 

5,  6.  where . .  .  sea.  What  word  in  this  clause  is  an  infelicitous  repetition 
of  a  word  in  the  preceding  member  ?  Can  you  remodel  and  improve  the  last 
part  of  the  sentence  ? 

2O 


3o6  SCOTT. 

2.  Upon  this  scene  of  desolation  the  sun  shone  with  almost 
intolerable  splendor,  and  all  living  nature  seemed  to  have  hid- 
den itself  from  the  rays,  excepting  the  solitary  figure  which  10 
moved  through  the  flitting  sand  at  a  foot's  pace,  and  appeared 
the  sole  breathing  thing  on  the  wide  surface  of  the  plain. 

3.  The  dress  of  the  rider  and  the  accoutrements  of  his  horse 
were  peculiarly  unfit  for  the  traveller  in  such  a  country.    A  coat 
of  linked  mail,  with  long  sleeves,  plated  gauntlets,  and  a  steel  15 
breastplate  had  not  been  esteemed  a  sufficient  weight  of  armor; 
there  was,  also,  his  triangular  shield  suspended  round  his  neck, 
and  his  barred  helmet  of  steel,  over  which  he  had  a  hood  and 
collar  of  mail,  which  was  drawn  around  the  warrior's  shoulders 
and  throat,  and  filled  up  the  vacancy  between  the  hauberk  and  20 
the  head-piece.     His  lower  limbs  were  sheathed,  like  his  body, 
in  flexible  mail,  securing  the  legs  and  thighs,  while  the  feet  rest- 
ed in  plated  shoes,  which  corresponded  with  the  gauntlets. 

4.  A  long,  broad,  straight-shaped,  double-edged  falchion,  with  a 
handle  formed  like  a  cross,  corresponded  with  a  stout  poniard  on  25 
the  other  side.    The  knight  also  bore,  secured  to  his  saddle,  with 
one  end  resting  on  his  stirrup,  the  long  steel-headed  lance,  his 
own  proper  weapon,  which,  as  he  rode,  projected  backwards,  and 
displayed  its  little  pennoncel,  to  dally  with  the  faint  breeze,  or 
drop  in  the  dead  calm.     To  this  cumbrous  equipment  must  be  30 
added  a  surcoat  of  embroidered  cloth,  much  frayed  and  worn, 
which  was  thus  far  useful,  that  it  excluded  the  burning  rays  of 
the  sun  from  the  armor,  which  they  would  otherwise  have  ren- 
dered intolerable  to  the  wearer. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 8-12.  Upon  . . .  plain.  What  kind  of  sentence  gram- 
matically ? — What  two  synonymous  verbs  are  used  in  this  sentence  ? — By  what 
touch  does  the  author  convey  a  vivid  impression  of  the  lifeless  desolation  of 
the  desert  ? — Of  what  statement  in  the  sentence  is  the  last  member  a  repeti- 
tion ? 

13-34.  The  dress  . .  .  nearer.  In  the  description  of  costume  Scott  is  always 
peculiarly  at  home.  Observe  the  skilful  manner  in  which  the  details  are  pre- 
sented.— Give  the  meaning  of  the  following  terms  (see  Dictionary):  "mail" 
(15);  "helmet"  (18) ;  "hauberk"  (20);  "falchion"  (24);  "poniard"  (25); 
"  pennoncel "  (29). 

17.  there  was.  What  is  the  logical  subject  of  "was?"  Query  as  to  the 
grammar. 


THE   CHRISTIAN  KNIGHT.  307 

5.  The  surcoat  bore,  in  several  places,  the  arms  of  the  owner,  35 
although  much  defaced.     These  seemed  to  be  a  couchant  leop- 
ard, with  the  motto,  " I sleep — wake  me  not"     An  outline  of  the 
same  device  might  be  traced  on  his  shield,  though  many  a  blow 
had  almost  effaced  the  painting.     The  flat  top  of  his  cumbrous 
cylindrical  helmet  was  unadorned  with  any  crest.     In  retaining  4o 
their   own   unwieldy  defensive    armor,  the   northern  crusaders 
seemed  to  set  at  defiance  the  nature  of  the  climate  and  country 
to  which  they  were  come  to  war. 

6.  The  accoutrements  of  the  horse  were  scarcely  less  massive 
and  unwieldy  than  those  of  the  rider.     The  animal  had  a  heavy  45 
saddle  plated  with  steel,  uniting  in  front  with  a  species  of  breast- 
plate, and  behind  with  defensive  armor  rhade  to  cover  the  loins. 
Then  there  was  a  steel  axe,  or  hammer,  called  a  mace-of-arms, 
and  which  hung  to  the  saddle-bow ;  the  reins  were  secured  by 
chain  work,  and  the  front  stall  of  the  bridle  was  a  steel  plate,  50 
with  apertures  for  the  eyes  and  nostrils,  having  in  the  midst  a 
short,  sharp  pike,  projecting  from  the  forehead  of  the  horse  like 
the  horn  of  the  fabulous  unicorn. 

7.  But  habit  had  made  the  endurance  of  this  load  of  panoply* 

a  second  nature,  both  to  the  knight  and  his  gallant  charger.  55 
Numbers,  indeed,  of  the  western  warriors  who  hurried  to  Pales- 
tine died  ere  they  became  inured  to  the  burning  climate ;  but 
there  were  others  to  whom  that  climate  became  innocent,  and 
even  friendly,  and  among  this  fortunate  number  was  the  solitary 
horseman  who  now  traversed  the  border  of  the  Dead  Sea.  6c 

8.  Nature,  which  cast  his  limbs  in   a  mould   of  uncommon 
strength,  fitted  to  wear  his  linked  hauberk  with  as  much  ease  as 
if  the  meshes  had  been  formed  of  cobwebs,  had  endowed  him 
with  a  constitution  as  strong  as  his  limbs,  and  which  bade  defi- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  35,  36.  The  surcoat .  .  .  defaced.  Analyze  this  sen- 
tence. 

37.  with  the  motto.     To  what  word  is  this  phrase  an  adjunct  ? 

43.  were  come  to  war.  Remark  on  the  form  "were  come." — What  part  of 
speech  is  "  war  "  here  ? 

54-60.  In  paragraph  7,  seventeen  words  are  of  classical  origin  :  what  are 
these  words  ? 

6 1-66.  Nature . .  .  kind.  Point  out  a  simile  and  a  personification  in  this 
sentence. 


308  SCOTT. 

ance  to  almost  all  changes  of  climate,  as  well  as  to  fatigue  and  65 
privations  of  every  kind.     His  disposition  seemed,  in  some  de- 
gree, to  partake  of  the  qualities  of  his  bodily  frame ;  and  as  the 
one  possessed  great  strength   and  endurance,  united  with  the 
power  of  violent  exertion,  the  other,  under  a  calm  and  undis- 
turbed semblance,  had  much  of  the  fiery  and  enthusiastic  love  of  ?c 
glory  which  constituted  the  principal  attribute  of  the  renowned 
Norman  line,  and  had  rendered  them  sovereigns  in  every  corner 
of  Europe  where  they  had  drawn  their  adventurous  swords. 

9.  Nature  had,  however,  her  demands  for  refreshment  and  re- 
pose even  on  the  iron  frame  and  patient  disposition  of  the  Knight  75 
of  the  Sleeping  Leopard ;  and  at  noon,  when  the  Dead  Sea  lay 
at  some  distance  on  his*  right,  he  joyfully  hailed  the  sight  of  two 
or  three  palm-trees,  which  arose  beside  the  well  which  was  as- 
signed for  his  mid-day  station.     His  good  horse,  too,  which  had 
plodded  forward  with  the  steady  endurance  of  his  master,  now  8c 
lifted  his  head,  expanded  his  nostrils,  and  quickened  his  pace,  as 
if  he  snuffed  afar  off  the  living  waters,  which  marked  the  place  of 
repose  and  refreshment.     But  labor  and  danger  were  doomed  to 
intervene  ere  the  horse  or  horseman  reached  the  desired  spot. 

10.  As  the  Knight  of  the  Couchant  Leopard  continued  to  fix  85 
his  eyes  attentively  on  the  yet  distant  cluster  of  palm-trees,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  some  object  was  moving  among  them.    The 
distant  form  separated  itself  from  the  trees,  which  partly  hid  its 
motions,  and  advanced  towards  the  knight  with  a  speed  which 
soon  showed  a  mounted  horseman,  whom  his  turban,  long  spear,  90 
and  green  caftan  floating  in  the  wind,  on  his  nearer  approach, 
proved  to  be  a  Saracen  cavalier.*   "In  the  desert,"  saith  an  East- 
ern proverb,  "no  man  meets  a  friend."     The  crusader  was  total- 
ly indifferent  whether  the  infidel,  who  now  approached  on  his 
gallant  barb*  as  if  borne  on  the  wings   of  an  eagle,  came   as  9.-" 
friend  or  foe — perhaps,  as  a  vowed  champion  of  the  cross,  he 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 66-73.  His  ...  swords.  What  kind  of  sentence  is 
this  rhetorically  ? — Grammatically  ?  Indicate  the  principal  propositions. — The 
subordinate  propositions. — Explain  "Norman  line." 

74-84.  What  connective  marks  the  transition  to  a  new  paragraph  ? — In  this 
sentence  point  out  an  epithet  used  figuratively. 

94.  the  infidel.     Explain  the  application  of  the  word  here. 


THE   CHRISTIAN  KNIGHT. 


3°9 


might  rather  have  preferred  the  latter.  He  disengaged  his 
lance  from  his  saddle,  seized  it  with  the  right  hand,  placed  it  in 
rest  with  its  point  half  elevated,  gathered  up  the  reins  in  the 
left,  waked  his  horse's  mettle  with  the  spur,  and  prepared  to  ioc 
encounter  the  stranger  with  the  calm  self-confidence  belonging 
to  the  victor  in  many  contests. 

11.  The  Saracen  came  on  at  the  speedy  gallop  of  an  Arab 
horseman,  managing  his  steed  more  by  his  limbs  and  the  inflec- 
tion of  his  body  than  by  any  use  of  the  reins  which  hung  loose  105 
in  his   left  hand;  so  that  he  was   enabled  to  wield  the   light 
round  buckler  of  the  skin  of  the  rhinoceros,  ornamented  with 
silver  loops,  which   he  wore   on  his  arm,  swinging  it  as  if  he 
meant  to  oppose  its  slender  circle  to  the  formidable  thrust  of 
the  Western  lance.     His  own  long  spear  was  not  couched  or  lev-  no 
elled  like  that  of  his  antagonist,  but  grasped  by  the  middle  with 
his  right  hand,  and  brandished  at  arm's  length  above  his  head. 
As  the  cavalier  approached  his  enemy  at  full  career,  he  seemed 
to  expect  that  the  Knight  of  the  Leopard  would  put  his  horse  to 
the  gallop  to  encounter  him.  us 

12.  But  the   Christian  knight,  well  acquainted  with  the  cus- 
toms of  Eastern  warriors,  did  not  mean  to  exhaust  his  good 
horse  by  any  unnecessary  exertion  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  made 
a  dead  halt,  confident  that  if  the  enemy  advanced  to  the  actual 
shock,  his  own  weight,  and  that  of  his  powerful  charger,  would  izc 
give  him  sufficient  advantage,  without  the  additional  momentum 
of  rapid  motion.     Equally  sensible  and  apprehensive  of  such  a 
probable  result,  the  Saracen  cavalier,  when  he  had  approached 
towards   the    Christian  within   twice   the    length   of   his    lance, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 97-102.  He  disengaged  .  .  .  contests.  Change  this 
sentence  by  transforming  the  first  and  second  members  into  adjective  phrases. 

103-115.  Observe  how,  by  a  few  vivid  touches,  the  Saracenic  horseman  is 
brought  before  the  mind's  eye. 

109.  its  slender  circle.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  28.) 

113.  he.  What  noun  does  "  he  "  represent  ?  Is  there  any  ambiguity  in  the 
reference  ?  .  Would  it  not  be  better  to  repeat  the  noun  ? 

116-130.  How  many  synonyms  of  "  horse  "  are  used  in  this  paragraph  ? 

122-130.  Equally  .  .  .  yards.  In  this  sentence  select  the  principal  propositions 
(giving  only  the  grammatical  subjects  and  predicates),  and  observe  the  skilful 
manner  in  which  the  subordinate  parts  are  introduced. 


3io  SCOTT. 

wheeled  his  steed  to  the  left  with  inimitable  dexterity,  and  rode  1*5 
twice  around  his  antagonist,  who,  turning  without  quitting  his 
ground,  and  presenting  his  front  constantly  to  his  enemy,  frus- 
trated his  attempts  to  attack  him  on  an  unguarded  point ;  so 
that  the  Saracen,  wheeling  his  horse,  was  fain  to  retreat  to  the 
distance  of  a  hundred  yards.  130 

13.  A  second  time,  like  a  hawk  attacking  a  heron,  the  heathen 
renewed  the  charge,  and  a  second  time  was  fain  to  retreat  with- 
out coming  to  a  close  struggle.     A  third  time  he  approached  in 
the  same  manner,  when  the  Christian  knight,  desirous  to  termi- 
nate this  illusory  warfare,  in  which  he  might  at  length  have  been  135 
worn  out  by  the   activity  of  his  foeman,  suddenly  seized  the 
mace  which  hung  at  his  saddle-bow,  and,  with  a  strong  hand  and 
unerring  aim,  hurled  it  against  the  head  of  the  emir ;  for  such, 
and  not  less,  his  enemy  appeared. 

14.  The  Saracen  was  just  aware  of  the  formidable  missile  in  MO 
time  to  interpose  his  light  buckler  betwixt  the  mace  and  his 
head ;  but  the  violence  of  the  blow  forced  the  buckler  down  on 
his  turban,  and  though  that  defence  also  contributed  to  deaden 
its  violence,  the  Saracen  was  beaten  from  his  horse.     Ere  the 
Christian  could  avail  himself  of  this  mishap,  his  nimble  foeman  145 
sprang  from  the  ground,  and,  calling  on  his  steed,  which  instant- 
ly returned  to  his  side,  he  leaped  into  his  seat  without  touching 
the  stirrup,  and  regained  all  the  advantage  of  which  the  Knight 
of  the  Leopard  had  hoped  to  deprive  him. 

15.  But  the  latter  had  in  the  meanwhile  recovered  his  mace,  150 
and  the  Eastern  cavalier,  who  remembered  the  strength  and  dex- 
terity with  which  his  antagonist  had  aimed  it,  seemed  to  keep 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 131.  like  a  hawk,  etc.  Point  out  the  aptness  of  the 
simile. — the  heathen.  Of  what  word  previously  used  is  this  a  synonym  ? 

133-139.  Substitute  equivalent  terms  for  the  following  italicized  words  and 
phrases  :  "  A  third  time  he  approached  in  the  same  manner,  when  the  Christian 
knight,  desirous  to  terminate  this  illusory  warfare,  in  which  he  might  at  length 
have  been  worn  out  by  the  activity  of  his  foeman,  suddenly  seized  the  mace 
which  hung  at  his  saddle-bow,  and,  with  a  strong  hand  and  unerring  aim,  hurlea 
it  against  the  head  of  the  emir  ;  for  such,  and  not  less,  his  enemy  appeared.'1'' 

140.  just.     Place  this  word  nearer  the  phrase  it  modifies. 

144,  145.  Ere  ...  mishap.     What  word  does  this  clause  modify  ? 

146.  calling  on  his  steed.     To  what  word  is  this  phrase  an  adjunct  ? 


THE   CHRISTIAN  KNIGHT.  3II 

cautiously  out  of  reach  of  that  weapon,  of  which  he  had  so  lately 
felt  the  force  ;  while  he  showed  his  purpose  of  waging  a  distant 
warfare  with  missile  weapons  of  his  own.  Planting  his  long  i5s 
spear  in  the  sand  at  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  combat,  he 
strung  with  great  address  a  short  bow,  which  he  carried  at  his 
back,  and,  putting  his  horse  to  the  gallop,  once  more  described 
two  or  three  circles  of  a  wider  extent  than  formerly,  in  the 
course  of  which  he  discharged  six  arrows  at  the  Christian  with  160 
such  unerring  skill  that  the  goodness  of  his  harness  alone  saved 
him  from  being  wounded  in  as  many  places.  The  seventh  shaft 
apparently  found  a  less  perfect  part  of  the  armor,  and  the  Chris- 
tian dropped  heavily  from  his  horse. 

1 6.  But  what  was  the  surprise  of  the  Saracen,  when,  dismount- 165 
ing  to  examine  the  condition  of  his  prostrate  enemy,  he  found 
himself  suddenly  within  the  grasp  of  the  European,  who  had  had 
recourse  to  this  artifice  to  bring  his  enemy  within  his  reach. 
Even  in  this  deadly  grapple,  the  Saracen  was  saved  by  his  agil- 
ity and  presence  of  mind.    He  unloosed  the  sword-belt,  in  which  170 
the  Knight  of  the  Leopard  had  fixed  his  hold,  and  thus  eluding 
his  fatal  grasp,  mounted  his  horse,  which  seemed  to  watch  his 
motions  with  the  intelligence  of  a  human  being,  and  again  rode 
off.     But  in  the  last  encounter  the  Saracen  had  lost  his  sword 
and  his  quiver  of  arrows,  both  of  which  were   attached  to  the  175 
girdle,  which  he  was  obliged  to  abandon.     He  had  also  lost  his 
turban  in  the  struggle.     These  disadvantages  seemed  to  incline 
the  Moslem  to  a  truce  :  he  approached  the  Christian  with  his 
right  hand  extended,  but  no  longer  in  a  menacing  attitude. 

17.  "There  is  truce*  betwixt  our  nations,"  he  said,  in  the  lingua  180 
franca  commonly  used  for  the  purpose  of  communication  with 
the  crusaders ;  "  wherefore   should  there  be  war  betwixt  thee 
and  me  ?     Let  there  be  peace  betwixt  us." 

"  I  am  well  contented,"  answered  he  of  the  Couchant  Leop- 
ard ;  "  but  what  security  dost  thou  offer  that  thou  wilt  observe  185 
the  truce  ?" 

"  The  word  of  a  follower  of  the  Prophet  was  never  broken," 
answered  the  emir.     "  It  is  thou,  brave  Nazarene,*  from  whom  I 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 155-162.  Planting.  ..  places.     Improve  this  rather 
long  and  loose-jointed  sentence  by  breaking  it  up  into  two  sentences. 


3  j  2  SCOTT. 

should  demand  security/ did  I   not  know  that  treason  seldom 
dwells  with  courage."  190 

1 8.  The  crusader  felt  that  the  confidence  of  the  Moslem  made 
him  ashamed  of  his  own  doubts. 

"  By  the  cross  of  my  sword,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
weapon  as  he  spoke,  "  I  will  be  true  companion  to  thee,  Saracen, 
while  our  fortune  wills  that  we  remain  in  company  together."  195 

"  By  Mohammed,  Prophet  of  God,  and  by  Allah,  God  of  the 
Prophet,"  replied  his  late  foeman,  "  there  is  not  treachery  in  my 
heart  towards  thee.  And  now  wend  we  to  yonder  fountain,  for 
the  hour  of  rest  is  at  hand,  and  the  stream  had  hardly  touched 
my  lip  when  I  was  called  to  battle  by  thy  approach."  20o 

19.  The  Knight  of  the  Couchant  Leopard  yielded  a  ready  and 
courteous  assent ;  and  the  late  foes,  without  an  angry  look  or 
gesture  of  doubt,  rode  side  by  side  to  the  little  cluster  of  palm- 
trees. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 201-204.  In  the  last  paragraph  which  words  are  ot 
Anglo-Saxon,  and  which  of  classical,  origin? 


XX. 

SAMUEL    TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 

1772-1834. 


*~/t       r. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  CRAIK.1 

i.  Coleridge's  poetry  is  remarkable  for  the  perfection  of  its 
execution,  for  the  exquisite  art  with  which  its  divine  spirit  is  en- 
dowed with  formal  expression.  The  subtly  woven  words,  with 

1  From  English  Language  and  Literature,  by  G.  L.  Craik,  LL.D.,  vol.  ii.,  p. 
4.78  et  seq. 


COLERIDGE. 

all  their  sky  colors,  seem  to  grow  out  of  the  thought  or  emo- 
tion, as  the  flower  from  its  stalk,  or  the  flame  from  its  feed- 
ing oil.  The  music  of  his  verse,  too,  especially  of  what  he  has 
written  in  rhyme,  is  as  sweet  and  as  characteristic  as  anything 
in  the  language,  placing  him  for  that  rare  excellence  in  the 
same  small  band  with  Shakespeare,  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
(in  their  lyrics),  and  Milton,  and  Collins,  and  Shelley,  and  Ten- 
nyson. 

2.  It  was  probably  only  quantity  that  was  wanting  to  make 
Coleridge  the  greatest  poet  of  his  day.     Certainly,  at  least,  some 
things  that  he  has  written  have  not  been  surpassed,  if  they  have 
been  matched,  by  any  of  his  contemporaries.     And  (as,  indeed, 
has  been  the  case  with  almost  all  great  poets)  he  continued  to 
write  better  and  better  the  longer  he  wrote  :  some  of  his  happi- 
est verses  were  the  produce  of  his  latest  years.     Not  only,  as  we 
proceed  from  his  earlier  to  his  later  compositions,  does  th«  exe- 
cution become  much  more  artistic  and  perfect,  but  the  informing 
spirit  refined  and  purified,  the  tenderness  grows  more  delicate 
and  deep,  the  fire  brighter  and  keener,  the  sense  of  beauty  more 
subtle  and  exquisite.     Yet  from  the  first  there  was  in  all  he 
wrote  the  divine  breath  which  essentially  makes  poetry  what  it 
is.     There  was  "  the  shaping  spirit  of  imagination,"  evidently  of 
soaring  pinion  and  full  of  strength,  though  as  yet  sometimes  un- 
skilfully directed,  and  encumbered  in  its  flight  by  an  affluence 
of  power  which  it  seemed  hardly  to  know  how  to  manage  ;  hence 
an  unselecting  impetuosity  in  these  early  compositions,  never  in- 
dicating anything  like  poverty  of  thought,  but  producing  occa- 
sionally considerable  awkwardness  and  turgidity  of  style,  and  a 
declamatory  air,  from  which  no  poetry  was  ever  more  free  than 
that  of  Coleridge  in  its  maturer  form. 

3.  Of  Coleridge's  poetry,  in  its  most  matured  form,  and  in  its 
best  specimens,  the  most  distinguishing  characteristics  are  vivid- 
ness of  imagination  and  subtlety  of  thought,  combined  with  un 
rivalled  beauty  and  expressiveness  of  diction,  and  the  most  ex- 
quisite melody  of  verse.    With  the  exception  of  a  vein  of  melan- 
choly and  meditative  tenderness,  flowing  rather  from  a  contem- 
plative survey  of  the  mystery — the  strangely  mingled  good  and 
evil — of  all  things  human  than  connected  with  any  individual 
interests,  there  is  not  in  general  much  of  passion  in  his  compo 


LOVE.  315 

sitions,  and  he  is  not  well  fitted,  therefore,  to  become  a  very 
popular  poet,  or  a  favorite  with  the  multitude. 

4.  His  love  itself,  warm  and  tender  as  it  is,  is  still  Platonic 
and  spiritual  in  its  tenderness,  rather  than  a  thing  of  flesh  and 
blood.  There  is  nothing  in  his  poetry  of  the  pulse  of  fire  that 
throbs  in  that  of  Burns  ;  neither  has  he  much  of  the  homely 
cvery-day  truth,  the  proverbial  and  universally  applicable  wis- 
dom of  Wordsworth.  Coleridge  was,  far  more  than  either  of 
these  poets,  "  of  imagination  all  compact."  The  fault  of  his 
poetry  is  the  same  that  belongs  to  that  of  Spenser — it  is  too 
purely  or  unalloyedly  poetical.  But  rarely,  on  the  other  hand, 
has  there  existed  an  imagination  ?.n  which  so  much  originality 
and  daring  were  associated  and  harmonized  with  so  gentle  and 
tremblingly  delicate  a  sense  of  beauty.  Some  of  his  minor 
poems  especially,  for  the  richness  of  their  coloring  combined 
with  the  most  perfect  finish,  can  be  compared  only  to  the  flowers 
which  spring  up  into  loveliness  at  the  touch  of  "  great  creating 
nature."  The  words,  the  rhyme,  the  whole  flow  of  the  music 
seem  to  be  not  so  much  the  mere  expression  or  sign  of  the 
thought  as  its  blossoming  or  irradiation  of  the  bright  essence, 
the  equally  bright  though  sensible  effluence. 


I.— LOVE. 

All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  *  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — To  what  class  of  poetry  does  this  poem  belong? 
Ans.  It  belongs  to  the  class  of  lyric  poetry. 

State  the  versification  of  the  poem.  Ans.  The  poem  is  written  in  stanzas 
of  four  lines,  the  first  three  of  which  are  iambic  tetrameter,  while  the  fourth  is 
an  iambic  trimeter ;  the  fourth  and  second  lines  rhyme. 

What  are  the  chief  characteristics  of  the  poem  ?  Ans.  They  are  a  fine  union 
of  passion  with  delicacy,  and  of  both  with  the  sweetest,  richest  music. 

1-4.  All ...  flame.  What  kind  of  statement  is  made  in  the  first  stanza,  a 
particular  or  a  general  statement  ?  What  purpose  does  this  stanza  serve  ? — 
Point  out  an  example  of  personification  in  these  lines. — Explain  "ministers" 
as  here  used. 


COLERIDGE. 

2.  Oft  in  my  waking  dreams  do  I  5 
Live  o'er  again  that  happy  hour, 

When  midway  on  the  mount  I  lay, 
Beside  the  ruined  tower. 

3.  The  moonshine,  stealing  o'er  the  scene 

Had  blended  with  the  lights  of  eve  ;  i<. 

And  she  was  there,  my  hope,  my  joy, 
My  own  dear  Genevieve ! 

4.  She  leaned  against  the  armed  man, 
The  statue  of  the  arme'd  knight ; 

She  stood  and  listened  to  my  lay,  15 

Amid  the  lingering  light. 

5   Few  sorrows  hath  she  of  her  own, 
My  hope  !  my  joy  !  my  Genevieve  ! 
She  loves  me  best  whene'er  I  sing 

The  songs  that  make  her  grieve.  2o 

6.  I  played  a  soft  and  doleful  air, 
I  sang  an  old  and  moving  story — 
An  old  rude  song,  that  suited  well 
That  ruin  wild  and  hoary. 


LITERARY  ANALYSTS.— 5-8.  Oft ...  tower.  Arrange  this  stanza  in  the  prose 
order. — Explain  "waking  dreams." — Give  an  instance  of  alliteration  in  this 
stanza. 

7-10.  State  in  your  own  words  what  was  the  scene  of  the  romance.  Is  it 
effective  for  the  poet's  purpose  ?  Why  ? 

II.  And  . .  .  joy.     What  two  metaphors  in  this  line  ? 

15,  16.  She  .  .  .  light.     Point  out  examples  of  alliteration. 

17.  Few  . . .  own.     What  is  the  most  emphatic  word  in  this  line  ?     By  what 
device  is  it  brought  into  prominence  ?     Transpose  into  the  prose  order,  and 
note  the  difference. 

17-20.  In  this  stanza,  how  many  words  are  of  other  than'  Anglo-Saxon 
origin  ? 

1 8.  My  hope!  my  joy!     Note  the  fine  effect  of  the  recurrence  of  these  terms 
used  in  line  II. 

20.  grieve.  Were  it  not  for  rhyme's  sake,  do  you  think  the  poet  would  use 
a  word  so  strong  a?,  "  grieve  ?"  What  is  perhaps  a  more  fitting  word  ? — Se- 
lect, from  Dryden's  Alexander's  Feast,  a  line  expressing  a  thought  similar  to 
that  in  lines  19,  20. 


LOVE.  317 

7.  She  listened  with  a  flitting  blush,  2«, 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace ; 

For  well  she  knew  I  could  not  choose 
But  gaze  upon  her  face. 

8.  I  told  her  of  the  knight  that  wore 

Upon  his  shield  a  burning  brand ;  3^ 

And  that  for  ten  long  years  he  wooed 
The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

9.  I  told  her  how  he  pined  :  and  ah  ! 
The  deep,  the  low,  the  pleading  tone 

With  which  I  sang  another's  love  35 

Interpreted  my  own. 

10.  She  listened  with  a  flitting  blush, 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace ; 
And  she  forgave  me,  that  I  gazed 

Too  fondly  on  her  face  !  40 

11.  But  when  I  told  the  cruel  scorn 

That  crazed  that  bold  and  lovely  knight, 
And  that  he  crossed  the  mountain-woods, 
Nor  rested  day  nor  night ; 

12.  That  sometimes  from  the  savage  den,  4s 
And  sometimes  from  the  darksome  shade, 

And  sometimes  starting  up  at  once 
In  green  and  sunny  glade, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 25-28,  Observe  how  preparation  is  made  for  the  in- 
troduction of  the  story — how  (stanza  5)  we  are  told  that  Genevieve  loved  best 
when  listening  to  songs  that  made  her  grieve,  and  how  (line  22)  the  lover 
sang  a  "  moving  story ;"  then  how,  before  proceeding  with  the  story  as  began 
in  stanza  8,  a  fine  effect  is  obtained  by  the  pause  in  stanza  7. 

28.  But.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

31.  And  ...  wooed.  Supply  the  ellipsis.  —  What  is  the  peculiar  force  of 
"long"  as  here  used? 

37,  38.  Of  what  lines  are  these  an  iteration  ? — Observe  the  context  of  these 
lines  in  each  instance. 

41-44.  In  stanza  n,  name  two  words  derived  from  Latin  through  French. 

45-47.  That  sometimes  .  .  .  once.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def. 
3G.) — To  what  word  is  the  phrase  "starting  up  at  once  "  an  adjunct? 


COLERIDGE. 

13.  There  came  and  looked  him  in  the  face 

An  angel  beautiful  and  bright;  5o 

And  that  he  knew  it  was  a  fiend,* 
This  miserable  knight ; 

14.  And  that,  unknowing  what  he  did, 
He  leaped  amid  a  murderous  band, 

And  saved  from  outrage  worse  than  death  55 

The  Lady  of  the  Land; 

15.  And  how  she  wept,  and  clasped  his  knees ; 
And  how  she  tended  him  in  vain, 

And  ever  strove  to  expiate* 

That  scorn  that  crazed  his  brain ;  6a 

1 6.  And  that  she  nursed  him  in  a  cave; 
And  how  his  madness  went  away, 
When  on  the  yellow  forest-leaves 

A  dying  man  he  lay. 

17.  His  dying  words — But  when  I  reached  6s 
That  tenderest  strain  of  all  the  ditty,* 

My  faltering  voice  and  pausing  harp 
Disturbed  her  soul  with  pity ! 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 49,  50.  There  came  . . .  bright.  Transpose  into  the 
piose  order,  and  point  out  which  effects  are  obtained  by  the  use  of  the  poetic 
order. 

51,  52.  Point  out  an  instance  of  pleonasm  in  these  lines. 

57-59.  Note  the  employment  of  the  conjunction  and  to  introduce  each 
clause. 1 

59.  expiate.     Etymology  ? 

63.  yellow.     What  does  the  use  of  this  epithet  suggest  ? 

64.  man.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

65.  His  dying  words.     Note  the  sudden  pause  by  which  the  conclusion  is  left 
unexpressed.     What  is  this  figure  of  speech  called  ?    (See  Def.  38.) 

1  The  employment  of  conjunctions  to  an  unusual  degree  is  sometimes  made 
a  distinct  figure  of  speech  under  the  name  of  polysyndeton. 


LOVE.  319 

18.  All  impulses  of  soul  and  sense 

Had  thrilled  my  guileless  Genevieve;  7° 

The  music  and  the  doleful  tale, 
The  rich  and  balmy  eve  ; 

19.  And  hopes,  and  fears  that  kindle  hope, 
An  undistinguishable  throng, 

And  gentle  wishes  long  subdued,  75 

Subdued  and  cherished  long ! 

20.  She  wept  with  pity  and  delight, 

She  blushed  with  love  and  virgin  shame ; 
And,  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream, 

I  heard  her  breathe  my  name.  80 

21.  Her  bosom  heaved — she  stepped  aside, 
As  conscious  of  my  look  she  stepped — 
Then  suddenly,  with  timorous  eye, 

She  fled  to  me  and  wept. 

22.  She  half  enclosed  me  with  her  arms,  85 
She  pressed  me  with  a  meek  embrace ; 

And,  bending  back  her  head,  looked  up, 
And  gazed  upon  my  face. 

23.  'Twas  partly  love,  and  partly  fear, 

And  partly  'twas  a  bashful  art,  9° 

That  I  might  rather  feel  than  see 
The  swelling  of  her  heart. 

24.  I  calmed  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm, 
And  told  her  love  with  virgin  pride ; 

And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve,  Q.B 

My  bright  and  beauteous  bride. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 71-76.  In  the  enumeration  of  details  in  these  lines, 
which  particulars  are  to  be  classed  as  "impulses  of  soul,"  and  which  as  "im- 
pulses of  sense?" 

74-  undistinguishable  throng.     Explain. 

75,  76.  subdued,  Subdued.  Notice  the  use  of  the  same  word  at  the  end  of  one 
phrase  and  at  the  beginning  of  another. 1 

1  This  is  sometimes  made  a  distinct  figure  under  the  name  of  anadiplosis. 


320  COLERIDGE. 


II.— MORNING   HYMN  TO   MONT   BLANC. 

1.  Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning-star 

In  his  steep  course  ?     So  long  he  seems  to  pause 

On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovran  Blanc ! 

The  Arve'  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 

Rave  ceaselessly ;  but  thou,  most  awful  form  !  5 

Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 

How  silently !     Around  thee  and  above 

Deep  is  the  air,  and  dark,  substantial,  black, 

An  ebon  mass  :  methinks  thou  piercest  it, 

As  with  a  wedge  !     But  when  I  look  again,  10 

It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 

Thy  habitation  from  eternity  ! 

0  dread  and  silent  mount !  I  gazed  upon  thee, 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought :  entranced  in  prayer,  15 

1  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone. 

2.  Yet,  like  some  sweet  beguiling  melody, 

So  sweet,  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, 

Thou,  the  meanwhile,  wast  blending  with  my  thought, 

Yea,  with  my  life,  and  life's  own  secret  joy ;  20 

Till  the  dilating  soul,  enrapt,  transfused, 

Into  the  mighty  vision  passing — there, 

As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  heaven. 

3.  Awake,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 

Thou  owest !  not  alone  these  swelling  tears,  25 

Mute  thanks,  and  secret  ecstasy !     Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song  !    Awake,  my  heart,  awake  ! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn. 

4.  Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  Sovran  of  the  Vale  ! 

Oh,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night,  3S 

And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 

Or  when  they  climb  the  sky  or  when  they  sink  : 

Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn, 

ThySelf  earth's  ROSY  STAR,  and  of  the  dawn 


MORNING  HYMN  TO  MONT  BLANC. 


321 


Co-herald  !  wake,  oh  wake,  and  utter  praise  !  ss 

Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light  ? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 

5.  And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  glad  ! 

Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death,  ^ 

From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 

Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 

Forever  shattered  and  the  same  forever  ? 

Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 

Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy,  45 

Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam  ? 

And  who  commanded — and  the  silence  came — 

"  Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest  ?" 

6.  Ye  ice-falls  !  ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 

Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain —  50 

Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 

And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge  ! 

Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  ! 

Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 

Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?     Who  bade  the  sun  55 

Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?     Who  with  living  flowers 

Of  loveliest  blue  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ? 

"  GOD  !"  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 

Answer ;  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  "  GOD  !" 

"  GOD  !"  sing,  ye  meadow-streams,  with  gladsome  voice  !        eo 

Ye  pine-groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds ! 

And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 

And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  "  GOD  I" 

7.  Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost ! 

Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest  1  65 

Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain-storm  ! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds  ! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements ! 
Utter  forth  "  GOD  !"  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise. 
21 


322  COLERIDGE. 

8.  Once  more,  hoar  mount !  with  thy  sky-pointing  peak,  70 

Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard, 
Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene, 
Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast — 
Thou  too,  again,  stupendous  mountain,  thou 
That,  as  I  raise  my  head,  a  while  bowed  low  75 

In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base, 
Slow  travelling,  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears, 
Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 
To  rise  before  me — rise,  O,  ever  rise  ; 

Rise  like  a  cloud  of  incense  from  the  earth.  80 

Thou  kingly  spirit  throned  among  the  hills, 
Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  heaven, 
Great  hierarch,  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun, 
Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God  !  85 


III.— PASSAGE   FROM   CHRTSTABEL. 

Alas  !  they  had  been  friends  in  youth; 
But  whispering  tongues  can  poison  truth ; 
And  constancy  lives  in  realms  above ; 
And  life  is  thorny;  and  youth  is  vain; 
And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love, 
Doth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain. 
And  thus  it  chanced,  as  I  divine, 
With  Roland  and  Sir  Leoline. 
Each  spake  words  of  high  disdain 
And  insult  to  his  heart's  best  brother : 
They  parted — ne'er  to  meet  again  ! 
But  never  either  found  another 
To  free  the  hollow  heart  from  paining — 
They  stood  aloof,  the  scars  remaining, 
Like  cliffs  which  had  been  rent  asunder; 
A  dreary  sea  now  flows  between ; 
But  neither  heat,  nor  frost,  nor  thunder, 
Shall  wholly  do  away,  I  ween, 
The  marks  of  that  which  once  hath  been. 


XXI. 

CHARLES    LAMB. 

1775-1834. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  DE  QUINCEY.1 

T.  Without  attempting  any  elaborate  analysis  of  Lamb's  mer- 
its, which  would  be  no  easy  task,  one  word  or  two  may  be  said 
generally  about  the  position  he  is  entitled  to  hold  in  our  litera- 

1  From  Biographical  Essays,  by  Thomas  De  Quincey. 


324  LAMB. 

ture,  and,  comparatively,  in  European  literature.  In  the  literature 
of  every  nation,  we  are  naturally  disposed  to  place  in  the  highest 
rank  those  who  have  produced  some  great  and  colossal  work — a 
Paradise  Lost,  a  Hamlet,  a  Novum  Organum — which  presupposes 
an  effort  of  intellect,  a  comprehensive  grasp,  and  a  sustaining 
power,  for  its  original  conception,  corresponding  in  grandeur  to 
that  effort,  different  in  kind,  which  must  preside  in  its  execution, 

2.  But  after  this  highest  class,  in  which  the  power  to  conceive 
and  the  power  to  execute  are  upon  the  same  scale  of  grandeur, 
there  comes  a  second,  in  which  brilliant  powers  of  execution,  ap- 
plied to  conceptions  of  a  very  inferior  range,  are  allowed  to  es- 
tablish a  classical  rank.     Every  literature  possesses,  besides  its 
great  national  gallery,  a  cabinet  of  minor  pieces,  not  less  perfect 
in  their  polish,  possibly  more  so.     In  reality,  the  characteristic 
of  this  class  is  elaborate  perfection :  the  point  of  inferiority  is 
not  in  the  finishing,  but  in  the  compass  and  power  of  the  origi- 
nal creation,  which  (however  exquisite  in  its  class),  moves  within 
a  smaller  sphere.     To  this  class  belong,  for  example,  The  Rapt 
of  the  Lock,  that  finished  jewel  of  English  literature  ;  The  Dun- 
dad  (a  still  more  exquisite  gem) ;  The  Vicar  of  Wakef.cld  (in  its 
earliest  part)  ;  in  German,  the  Luise  of  Voss  ;  in  French — what  ? 
Above  all  others,  the  fables  of  La  Fontaine.     He  is  the  pet  and 
darling,  as  it  were,  of  the  French  literature. 

3.  Now,  I  affirm  that  Charles  Lamb  occupies  a  corresponding 
station  in  his  own  literature.     I  am  not  speaking  (it  will  be  ob- 
served) of  kinds,  but  of  degrees,  in  literary  merit ;  and  Lamb  I 
hold  to  be,  as  with  respect  to  English  literature,  that  which  La 
Fontaine  is  with  respect  to  French.     For  though  there  may  be 
little  resemblance  otherwise,  in  this  they  agree,  that  both  were 
wayward  and  eccentric  humorists  ;  both  confined  their  efforts  to 
short  flights  ;  and  both,  according  to  the  standards  of  their  sev 
eral  countries,  were  occasionally,  and  in  a  lower  key,  poets. 


DISSERTATION  ON  ROAST  PIG.  325 


DISSERTATION   ON    ROAST   PIG. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  subjoined  piece  is  one  of  the  Essays  of  Elia,  under 
which  pseudonym  Lamb  contributed  to  the  London  Magazine  this  charming 
series  of  papers.  Says  Sir  T.  N.  Talfourd  :  "  They  are  carefully  elaborated  ; 
yet  never  were  works  written  in  a  higher  defiance  to  the  conventional  pomp 
of  style.  A  sly  hit,  a  happy  pun,  a  humorous  combination,  lets  the  light  into 
the  intricacies  of  the  subject,  and  supplies  the  place  of  ponderous  sentences."] 

1.  Mankind,  says  a  Chinese  manuscript,  which  my  friend  M. 
was  obliging  enough  to  read  and  explain  to  me,  for  the  first  sev- 
enty thousand  ages  ate  their  meat  raw,  clawing  or  biting  it  from 
the  living  animal,  just  as  they  do  in  Abyssinia  to  this  day.    This 
period  is  not  obscurely  hinted  at  by  their  great  Confucius  in  the  s 
second  chapter  of. his  Mundane  Mutations,  where  he  designates 

a  kind  of  golden  age  by  the  term  Cho-fang,  literally  the  cooks' 
holiday.  The  manuscript  goes  on  to  say  that  the  art  of  roast- 
ing, or  rather  broiling  (which  I  take  to  be  the  elder  brother),  was 
accidentally  discovered  in  the  manner  following.  10 

2.  The  swine-herd  Ho-ti,  having  gone  out  into  the  woods  one 
morning,  as  his  manner  was,  to  collect  mast*  for  his  hogs,  left  his 
cottage  in  the  care  of  his  eldest  son,  Bo-bo,  a  great  lubberly  boy, 
who,  being  fond  of  playing  with  fire,  as  younkers*  of  his   age 
commonly  are,  let  some  sparks  escape  into  a  bundle  of  straw,  15 
which  kindling  quickly,  spread  the  conflagration  over  every  part 
of  their  poor  mansion,  till  it  was  reduced  to  ashes.     Together 
with  the  cottage  (a  sorry  antediluvian  makeshift  of  a  building, 
you  may  think  it),  what  was  of  much  more  importance,  a  fine  lit- 
ter of  new-farrowed  pigs,  no  less  than  nine  in  number,  perished.  2c 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — To  what  class  of  compositions  does  this  piece  be- 
long ?  Ans.  To  the  Essay. — What  are  the  chief  characteristics  of  the  piece? 
Ans.  They  are  raciness  and  humor. 

I- 10.  Mankind  . .  .  following.  By  what  means  does  Lamb  give  an  appearance 
of  truthfulness  to  the  narrative  ? 

2,  3.  seventy  thousand  ages.  The  claims  of  the  Chinese  to  a  vast  antiquity 
give  point  to  this  remarkable  number. 

9.  the  elder  brother.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

11-17.  The  swine-herd  .  .  .  ashes.  What  kind  of  sentence,  grammatically  and 
rhetorically  ? 

14.  younkers.     Etymology  ? 

17-20.  Together  .  .  .  perished.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? 


326  LAMB. 

China  pigs  have  been  esteemed  a  luxury  all  over  the  East  from 
the  remotest  periods  that  we  read  of.  Bo-bo  was  in  the  utmost 
consternation,  as  you  may  think,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  the 
tenement,*  which  his  father  and  he  could  easily  build  up  again 
with  a  few  dry  branches  and  the  labor  of  an  hour  or  two,  at  any  25 
time,  as  for  the  loss  of  the  pigs. 

3.  While  he  was  thinking  what  he  should  say  to  his  father,  and 
wringing  his  hands  over  the  smoking  remnants  of  one  of  those 
untimely  sufferers,  an  odor  assailed  his  nostrils  unlike  any  scent 
which  he  had  before  experienced.  What  could  it  proceed  from  ?  30 
Not  from  the  burned  cottage — he  had  smelled  that  smell  be- 
fore ;  indeed,  this  was  by  no  means  the  first  accident  of  the  kind 
which  had  occurred  through  the  negligence  of  this  unlucky  young 
firebrand.  Much  less  did  it  resemble  that  of  any  known  herb, 
weed,  or  flower.  A  premonitory  moistening  at  the  same  time  35 
overflowed  his  nether  lip.  He  knew  not  what  to  think.  He  next 
stooped  down  to  feel  the  pig,  if  there  were  any  signs  of  life  in  it. 
He  burned  his  fingers,  and  to  cool  them  he  applied  them,  in  his 
booby  fashion,  to  his  mouth.  Some  of  the  crumbs  of  the  scorch- 
ed skin  had  come  away  with  his  fingers,  and  for  the  first  time  40 
in  his  life  (in  the  world's  life  indeed,  for  before  him  no  man 
had  known  it)  he  tasted — crackling!  Again  he  felt  and  fum- 
bled at  the  pig.  It  did  not  burn  him  so  much  now ;  still  he 
licked  his  fingers  from  a  sort  of  habit.  The  truth  at  length 
broke  into  his  slow  understanding  that  it  was  the  pig  that4s 
smelled  so,  and  the  pig  that  tasted  so  delicious  ,  and,  surren- 
dering himself  up  to  the  new-born  pleasure,  he  fell  to  tearing 
up  whole  handfuls  of  the  scorched  skin  with  the  flesh  next  it. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  29,  30.  an  odor  . . .  experienced.  Express  in  other 
words. 

36.  He  knew  not  what  to  think.     What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ? 

36,  37.  He  next ...  it.  Is  this  mode  of  statement  better  than  "  He  next 
stooped  down  to  feel  if  there  were  any  signs  of  life  in  the  pig  ?" — if.  Is  this 
the  proper  conjunction? 

39.  booby.     Etymology? 

41.  in  the  world's  life.     What  effect  does  Lamb  gain  by  making  the  dis 
covery  of  crackling  an  epoch  in  the  "  world's  life  ?" 

42.  he  tasted— crackling !     What  is  gained  by  the  use  of  the  dash  here? 
46.  delicious.     Grammatical  construction? 


DISSERTATION  ON  ROAST  PIG.  327 

and  was  cramming  it  down  his  throat  in  his  beastly  fashion,, 
when  his  sire  entered  amid  the  smoking  rafters,  armed  with  re-  sc 
tributory  cudgel,  and,  finding  how  affairs  stood,  began  to  rain 
blows  upon  the  young  rogue's  shoulders  as  thick  as  hailstones, 
which  Bo-bo  heeded  not  any  more  than  if  they  had  been  flies. 
The  tickling  pleasure  which  he  experienced  in  his  lower  regions 
had  rendered  him  quite  callous  to  any  inconveniences  he  might  ss 
feel  in  those  remote  quarters.  His  father  might  lay  on,  but  he 
could  not  beat  him  from  his  pig  till  he  had  fairly  made  an  end 
of  it,  when,  becoming  a  little  more  sensible  of  his  situation, 
something  like  the  following  dialogue  ensued: 

"  You  graceless  whelp,  what  have  you  got  there  devouring  ?  60 
Is  it  not  enough  that  you  have  burned  me  down  three  houses 
with  your  dog's  tricks,  and  be  hanged  to  you  !  but  you  must  be 
eating  fire,  and  I  know  not  what  ?     What  have  you  got  there,  I 
say  ?" 

"O  father,  the  pig,  the  pig!     Do  come  and  taste  how  nicee5 
the  burnt  pig  eats  !" 

4.  The  ears  of  Ho-ti  tingled  with  horror.     He  cursed  his  son, 
and  he  cursed  himself  that  ever  he  should  beget  a  son  that 
should   eat   burnt   pig.      Bo-bo,  whose   scent  was  wonderfully 
sharpened  since  morning,  soon  raked  out  another  pig,  and,  fair-  ?c 
ly  rending  it  asunder,  thrust  the  lesser  half  by  main  force  into 
the  fists  of  Ho-ti,  still   shouting  out,  "  Eat,  eat,  eat  the  burnt 
pig,  father  !  only  taste! — O  Lord!" — with  such-like  barbarous 
ejaculations,  cramming  all  the  while  as  if  he  would  choke. 

5.  Ho-ti  trembled  in  every  joint  while  he  grasped  the  abomina-  75 
ble*  thing,  wavering  whether  he  should  not  put  his  son  to  death 
for  an  unnatural  young  monster,  when  the  crackling  scorching 
his  fingers,  as  it  had  done  his  son's,  and  applying  the  same  rem- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  53.  which  Bo-bo  ..  .•hies.  Transfer  this  clause  to 
the  next  sentence,  making  necessary  verbal  alterations  :  the  unity  of  each  sen- 
tence will  thus  be  better  preserved. 

60.  devouring.     Grammatical  construction? 

61.  me — an  example  of  the  ethical  dative. 

66.  eats.     Remark  on  the  form  of  expression. 

75,  76.  abominable  thing.     Why  this  expression  ? — Give  the  derivation  of 
"abominable." 
77.  for.     What  is  the  force  of  the  preposition  here? 


328  LAMB, 

edy  to  them,  he  in  his  turn  tasted  some  of  its  flavor,  which,  make 
what  sour  mouths  he  would  for  a  pretence,  proved  not  altogeth-  80 
er  displeasing  to  him.  In  conclusion  (for  the  manuscript  here  is 
a  little  tedious),  both  father  and  son  fairly  sat  down  to  the  mess,* 
and  never  left  off  till  they  had  despatched  all  that  remained  of 
the  litter. 

6.  Bo-bo  was  strictly  enjoined  not  to  let  the  secret  escape,  for  85 
the  neighbors  would  certainly  have  stoned  them  for  a  couple  of 
abominable  wretches,  who  could  think  of  improving  upon  the 
good  meat  which  God  had  sent  them.     Nevertheless,  strange 
stories  got  about.     It  was  observed  that  Ho-ti's  cottage  was 
burned  down  now  more  frequently  than  ever.     Nothing  but  fires  *> 
from  this  time  forward.     Some  would  break  out  in  broad  day, 
others  in  the  night-time.     As  often  as  the  sow  farrowed,  so  sure 
was  the  house  of  Ho-ti  to  be  in  a  blaze  ;  and  Ho-ti  himself, 
which  was  the  more  remarkable,  instead  of  chastising  his  son, 
seemed  to  grow  more  indulgent  to  him  than  ever.     At  length  95 
they  were  watched,  the  terrible  mystery  discovered,  and  father 
and  son  summoned  to  take  their  trial  at  Pekin,  then  an  incon- 
siderable assize  town.     Evidence  was  given,  the  obnoxious  food 
itself  produced  in  court,  and  verdict  about  to  be  pronounced, 
when  the  foreman  of  the  jury  begged  that  some  of  the  burned  100 
pig,  of  which  the  culprits  stood  accused,  might  be  handed  into 
the  box.     He  handled  it,  and  they  all  handled  it,  and  burning 
their  fingers,  as  Bo-bo  and  his  father  had  done  before  them,  and 
nature  prompting  to  each  of  them  the  same  remedy,  against  the 
face  of  all  the  facts,  and  the  clearest  charge  which  judge  had  105 
ever  given — to  the  surprise  of  the  whole  court,  townsfolk,  stran- 
gers, reporters,  and  all  present — without  leaving  the  box,  or  any 
manner  of  consultation  whatever,  they  brought  in  a  simultaneous 
verdict  of  Not  Guilty. 

7.  The  judge,  who  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  winked*  at  the  mani-  no 
fest  iniquity  of  the  decision ;  and  when  the  court  was  dismissed 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 85-109.  Bo-bo .  . .  Guilty.  Point  out  the  humorous 
touches  in  paragraph  6. 

90,  91.  Nothing  . . .  forward.     What  is  the  effect  of  the  omission  of  the  verb  ? 

no.  who .  . .  fellow.  What  kind  of  clause  is  this,  and  what  word  does  it 
modify  ? — winked.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 


DISSERTATION  ON  ROAST  PIG. 


329 


went  privily  and  bought  up  all  the  pigs  that  could  be  had  for 
love  or  money.  In  a  few  days  his  lordship's  town-house  was  ob- 
served to  be  on  fire.  The  thing  took  wing,  and  now  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  fire  in  every  direction  ;  fuel  and  pigs  us 
grew  enormously  dear  all  over  the  district.  The  insurance  of- 
fices one  and  all  shut  up  shop.  People  built  slighter  and  slight- 
er every  day,  until  it  was  feared  that  the  very  science  of  archi- 
tecture would  in  no  long  time  be  lost  to  the  world.  Thus  this 
custom  of  firing  houses  continued,  till  in  process  of  time,  says  120 
my  manuscript,  a  sage  arose,  like  our  Locke,  who  made  a  dis- 
covery that  the  flesh  of  swine,  or  indeed  of  any  other  animal, 
might  be  cooked  (burnt,  as  they  called  it)  without  the  necessity 
of  consuming  a  whole  house  to  dress  it.  Then  first  began  the 
rude  form  of  a  gridiron.  Roasting  by  the  string  or  spit  came  in  125 
a  century  or  two  later — I  forget  in  whose  dynasty.  By  such 
slow  degrees,  concludes  the  manuscript,  do  the  most  useful,  and 
seemingly  the  most  obvious,  arts  make  their  way  among  man- 
kind. 

8.  Without  placing  too   implicit  faith  in   the   account  above  130 
given,  it  must  be  agreed  that  if  a  worthy  pretext  for  so  danger- 
ous an  experiment  as  setting  houses  on  fire  (especially  in  these 
days)  could  be  assigned  in  favor  of  any  culinary  object,  that  pre- 
text and  excuse  might  be  found  in  ROAST  PIG. 

9.  Of  all  the  delicacies  in  the  whole  ntundus  edibilis,  I  will  135 
maintain  it.  to  be   the    most  delicate — princeps  obsoniorum.     I 
speak  not  of  your  grown  porkers — things  between  pig  and  pork, 


NOTES.  —  Line   135.  mnndus  edib'ilis, 

literally   the   edible  -world,  the 
whole  range  of  things  eatable. 


136.  princeps  obsoniorum,  prince  of 
viands.  (Obsoniorum^  genitive 
plural  of  obsonium.) 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 114.  took  wing.     Explain  the  expression. 

1 1 6.  The  insurance,  etc.     Point  out  the  element  of  humor. 

117.  shut  up  shop.     Remark  on  the  expression. 

126.  By  guch,  etc.  Observe  how  the  drollery  of  the  history  is  heightened  by 
the  solemnity  of  this  remark. 

132,  133.  Why  "  especially  in  these  days  ?" 

135-143.  Of  all ...  grunt.  In  this  paragraph  by  what  device  does  the  author 
add  a  ludicrous  dignity  to  his  subject  ? 


330 


LAMB. 


those  hobbydehoys  —  but  a  young  and  tender  suckling,  under 
a  moon  old,  guiltless  as  yet  of  the  sty ;  with  no  original  speck 
of  the  amor  immunditice,  the  hereditary  failing  of  the  first  parent,  140 
yet  manifest ;  his  voice  as  yet  not  broken,  but  something  between 
a  childish  treble  and  a  grumble,  the  mild  forerunner,  or  prcelu- 
dium,  of  a  grunt. 

10.  He  must  be  roasted.     I  am  not  ignorant  that  our  ancestors 
ate  them  seethed,  or  boiled,  but  what  a  sacrifice  of  the  exterior  i45 
tegument ! 

11.  There  is  no  flavor  comparable,  I  will  contend,  to  that  of 
the  crisp,  tawny,  well-watched,  not  over-roasted,  crackling,  as  it 
is  well  called  :  the  very  teeth  are  invited  to  their  share  of  the 
pleasure  at  this  banquet  in  overcoming  the  coy,  brittle  resistance,  150 
with  the  adhesive  oleaginous — O,  call  it  not  fat !  but  an  inde- 
finable sweetness  growing  up  to  it,  the  tender  blossoming  of 
fat,  fat  cropped  in  the  bud,  taken  in  the  shoot,  in  the  first  in- 
nocence, the  cream  and  quintessence  of  the  child-pig's  yet  pure 
food — the  lean,  no  lean,  but  a  kind  of  animal  manna — or,  rather,  iSS 
fat  and  lean  (if  it  must  be  so)  so  blended  and  running  into  each 
other,  that  both  together  make  but  one  ambrosian  result,  or  com- 
mon substance. 

12.  Behold  him  while  he  is  "  doing" — it  seemeth  rather  a  re- 
freshing warmth  than  a  scorching  heat,  that  he  is  so  passive  to.  i6c 
How  equably  he  twirleth  round  the  string  !     Now  he  is  just 
done.     To  see  the  extreme  sensibility  of  that  tender  age  !  he 
hath  wept  out  his  pretty  eyes — radiant  jellies — shooting  stars. 


140.  amor  iminunditlie,  love  of  filth.        |  142,  143.  praeludium,  prelude. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 138.  hobbydehoys.  In  what  consists  the  funny  fe- 
licity of  this  term? 

139.  irith  no  original  speck,  etc.     Explain  the  allusion. 

144.  not  ignorant.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  81.) 

145,  146.  exterior  tegument.      Explain.      But  would  any  plainer  terms  be 
equally  effective  for  Lamb's  purpose  ? 

I47-1 58-  Th«re  is  ...  substance.  The  pupil  cannot  fail  to  note  the  exquisite 
art  of  this  long,  broken,  but  most  deftly  managed  sentence — the  piling  of  epi- 
thet on  epithet,  the  delicious  exaggeration  of  terms,  the  drollery  of  the  mock 
heroics. 


DISSERTATION  ON  ROAST  PIG. 


33* 


13.  See  him  in  the  dish,  his  second  cradle,  how  meek  he  lieth ! 
— wouldst  thou  have  had  this  innocent  grow  up  to  the  grossness  165 
and  indocility  which  too  often  accompany  maturer  swinehood  ? 
Ten  to  one  he  would  have  proved  a  glutton,  a  sloven,  an  obsti- 
nate, disagreeable  animal,  wallowing  in  all  manner  of  filthy  con- 
versation.    From  these  sins  he  is  happily  snatched  away 

"Ere  sin  could  blight,  or  sorrow  fade,  170- 

Death  came  with  timely  care." 

His  memory  is  odoriferous ;  no  clown  curseth,  while  his  stomach 
half  rejecteth,  the  rank  bacon ;  no  coal-heaver  bolteth  him  in 
reeking   sausages ;   he   hath    a   fair   sepulchre    in  the  grateful 
stomach  of  the  judicious  epicure,*  and  for  such  a  tomb  might  be  175 
content  to  die. 

14.  He  is  the  best  of  sapors.     Pineapple  is  great.     She  is, 
indeed,  almost  too  transcendent — a  delight,  if  not  sinful,  yet  so 
like  to  sinning  that  really  a  tender-conscienced  person  would  do 
well  to  pause  ;  too  ravishing  for  mortal  taste,  she  woundeth  and  180 
excoriateth  the  lips  that  approach  her ;  she  is  a  pleasure  border 
ing  on  pain  from  the  fierceness  and  insanity  of  her  relish ;  but 
she  stoppeth  at  the  palate  ;  she  meddleth  not  with  the  appetite ; 
and  the  coarsest  hunger  might  barter  her  consistently  for  a  mut- 
ton-chop. 185 

15.  Pig — let  me  speak  his  praise — is  no  less  provocative  of 
the  appetite  than  he  is  satisfactory  to  the  criticalness  of  the  cen- 
sorious palate.     The  strong  man  may  batten  on  him,  and  the 
weakling  refuseth  not  his  mild  juices. 

1 6.  Unlike  to  mankind's  mixed  characters,  a  bundle  of  virtues  190 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 164.  his  second  cradle.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
— lieth.  What  is  the  effect  of  using  the  ancient  form  ? 

169.  sins.     Remark  on  the  use  of  this  word. 

175.  such  a  tomb,  etc.  The  allusion  is  to  a  line  of  Milton  in  his  sonnet  on 
Shakespeare.  See  page  4  of  this  book. 

177.  sapors,  delicacies. 

177-185.  Observe  the  skilful  construction  of  paragraph  14:  first  two  short 
pithy  sentences,  and  then — as  if  the  gusto  of  his  thought  carried  the  author 
away — an  expanded,  cumulative  sentence. — Point  out  an  example  of  antithesis 
in  this  paragraph. 

186-188.  Pig  ...  palate.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ? 


332  LAMB. 

and  vices,  inexplicably  intertwisted,  and  not  to  be  unravelled* 
without  hazard,  he  is — good  throughout.  No  part  of  him  is  bet- 
ter or  worse  than  another.  He  helpeth,  as  far  as  his  little  means 
extend,  all  around.  He  is  the  least  envious  of  banquets.  He  is 
all  neighbors'  fare.  195 

17.  I  am  one  of  those  who  freely  and  ungrudgingly  impart  a 
share  of  the  good  things  of  this  life  which  fall  to  their  lot  (few 
as  mine  are  in  this  kind)  to  a  friend.     I  protest  I  take  as  great 
an  interest  in  my  friend's  pleasures,  his  relishes,  and  proper  sat- 
isfactions, as  in  mine  own.     "  Presents,"  I  often  say,  "  endear  200 
absents."       Hares,   pheasants,   partridges,    snipes,   barn  -  door 
chickens  (those  "  tame   villatic  fowl "),  capons,  plovers,  brawn, 
barrels  of  oysters,  I  dispense  as  freely  as  I  receive  them.     I  love 

to  taste  them,  as  it  were,  upon  the  tongue  of  my  friend.     But  a 
stop  must  be  put  somewhere.     One  would  not,  like  Lear,  "  give  2oS 
everything."    I  make  my  stand  upon  pig.     Methinks  it  is  an  in- 
gratitude to  the  Giver  of  all  good  flavors  to  extra-domiciliate,  or 
send  out  of  the  house,  slightingly  (under  the  pretext  of  friend- 
ship, or  I  know  not  what),  a  blessing  so  particularly  adapted, 
predestined,  I  may  say,  to  my  individual  palate.     It  argues  an  210 
insensibility. 

18.  I  remember  a  touch  of  conscience  in  this  kind  at  school. 
My  good  old  aunt,  who  never  parted  from  me  at  the  end  of  a 
holiday  without  stuffing  a  sweetmeat,  or  some  nice  thing,  into  my 
pocket,  had  dismissed  me  one  evening  with  a  smoking  plum- 215 
cake  fresh  from  the  oven.     In  my  way  to  school  (it  was  over 
London  bridge)  a  gray-headed  old  beggar  saluted  me  (I  kave  no 
doubt,  at  this  time  of  day,  that  he  was  a  counterfeit).     I  had  no 
pence  to  console  him  with,  and,  in  the  vanity  of  self-denial,  and 
the  very  coxcombry  of  charity,  school-boy-like,  I  made  him  a  220 
present  of — the  whole  cake !     I  walked  on  a  little,  buoyed  up, 
as  one  is  on  such  occasions,  with  a  sweet  soothing  of  self-satis- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 194.  He  ...  banquets.     Explain. 

196-211.  In  paragraph  17  how  does  the  author  contrive  to  convey  a  notion 
of  his  superlative  appreciation  of  pig  ? 

200,  201.  Presents  .  . .  absents.     Point  out  the  play  upon  words. 

202.  villatic,  pertaining  to  a  village.     The  quotation  is  from  Milton. 

212-238.  Make  an  abstract  from  memory  of  paragraph  18.  —  Point  out 
touches  of  delicate  irony  in  this  paragraph. 


DISSERTATION  ON  ROAST  PIG.  333 

faction ;  but,  before  I  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  bridge,  my  bet- 
ter feelings  returned,  and  I  burst  into  tears,  thinking  how  un- 
grateful I  had  been  to  my  good  aunt,  to  go  and  give  her  good  22$ 
gift  away  to  a  stranger  that  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  who 
might  be  a  bad  man  for  aught  I  knew  •  and  then  I  thought  of 
the  pleasure  my  aunt  would  be  taking  in  thinking  that  I — I  my- 
self, and  not  another — would  eat  her  nice  cake.  And  what  should 
1  say  to  her  the  next  time  I  saw  her  ?  How  naughty  I  was  to  a3c 
part  with  her  pretty  present !  And  the  odor  of  that  spicy  cake 
came  back  upon  my  recollection,  and  the  pleasure  and  the  curi 
osity  I  had  taken  in  seeing  her  make  it,  and  her  joy  when  she 
sent  it  to  the  oven,  and  how  disappointed  she  would  feel  that  I 
had  never  had  a  bit  of  it  in  my  mouth  at  last.  And  1  blamed  235 
my  impertinent  spirit  of  almsgiving  and  out-of-place  hypocrisy 
of  goodness  ;  and,  above  all,  I  wished  never  to  see  the  face 
again  of  that  insidious,  good-for-nothing,  old  gray  impostor. 

19.  Our  ancestors  were   nice   in  their  method  of  sacrificing 
these  tender  victims.     We  read  of  pigs  whipped  to  death  witri24c 
something  of  a  shock,  as  we  hear  of  any  other  obsolete  custom. 
The  age  of  discipline  is  gone  by,  or  it  would  be  curious  to  in- 
quire (in  a  philosophical  light  merely)  what  effect  this  process 
might  have  towards  intenerating  and  dulcifying  a  substance  nat- 
urally so  mild  and  dulcet  as  the  flesh  of  young  pigs.     It  looks  245 
like  refining  a  violet.     Yet  we  should  be  cautious,  while  we  con 
demn  the  inhumanity,  how  we  censure  the  wisdom  of  the  prac- 
tice.    It  might  impart  a  gusto. 

20.  I  remember  an  hypothesis,  argued  upon  by  the  young  stu- 
dents when  I  was   at  St.  Omer's,  and  maintained  with  much  250 
learning  and  pleasantry  on  both   sides,  "  Whether,  supposing 
that  the  flavor  of  a  pig  who  obtained  his  death  by  whipping  (per 
flagellationem  extremani)  superadded  a  pleasure  upon  the  palate  of 

a  man  more  intense  than  any  possible  suffering  we  can  conceive 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 239.  nice.     Meaning  here? 

244.  intenerating,  rendering  tender. — dulcifying,  rendering  sweet.  These  are 
instances  of  Lamb's  fondness  for  rare  or  obsolete  words. 

246.  refining  a  violet.     Query  as  to  this  expression. 

249-256.  I  remember  .  .  .  decision.  Observe  the  drollery  of  this  imitation  of 
the  kind  of  questions  argued  by  the  mediaeval  schoolmen. 


334  LAMB' 

in  the  animal,  is  man  justified  in  using  that  method  of  putting  255 
the  animal  to  death  ?"     I  forget  the  .decision. 

21.  His  sauce  should  be  considered.  Decidedly,  a  few  bread- 
crumbs, done  up  with  his  liver  and  brains,  and  a  dash  of  mild 
sage.  But  banish,  dear  Mrs.  Cook,  I  beseech  you,  the  whole 
onion  tribe.  Barbecue  your  whole  hogs  to  your  palate,  steep  260 
them  in  shallots,  stuff  them  out  with  plantations  of  the  rank  and 
guilty  garlic  ;  you  cannot  poison  them,  or  make  them  stronger 
than  they  are  ;  but  consider,  he  is  a  weakling — a  flower. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  256.  I  forget  the  decision.  Would  it  have  been 
good  art  to  remember  it  ? 

257-263.  In  the  last  paragraph  point  out  an  example  of  alliteration.  Of 
metaphor. 


XXII. 

DANIEL   WEBSTER. 

1782-1852. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  RUFUS  CHOATE. 

i.  Little  anywhere  can  be  added  now  to  that  wealth  of  eulogy 
that  has  been  heaped  upon  the  tomb  of  Webster.  Before  he 
died,  even,  renowned  in  two  hemispheres,  in  ours  he  seemed  to 
be  known  with  a  universal  nearness  of  knowledge.  He  walked 


336  WEBSTER. 

so  long  and  so  conspicuously  before  the  general  eye ;  his  actions, 
his  opinions,  on  all  things  which  had  been  large  enough  to  agitate 
the  public  mind  for  the  last  thirty  years  and  more,  had  had  im- 
portance and  consequences  so  remarkable — anxiously  waited  for, 
passionately  canvassed,  not  adopted  always  into  the  particular 
measure,  or  deciding  the  particular  vote  of  government  or  the 
country,  yet  sinking  deep  into  the  reason  of  the  people — a  stream 
of  influence  whose  fruits  it  is  yet  too  soon  for  political  philos- 
ophy to  appreciate  completely ;  an  impression  of  his  extraor- 
dinary intellectual  endowments,  and  of  the.'r  peculiar  superiority 
in  that  most  imposing  and  intelligible  of  all  forms  of  manifesta- 
tion, the  moving  of  others'  minds  by  speech — this  impression  had 
grown  so  universal  and  fixed,  and  it  had  kindled  curiosity  to  hear 
him  and  read  him  so  wide  and  so  largely  indulged ;  his  individ- 
uality altogether  was  so  absolute  and  so  pronounced,  the  force 
of  will  no  less  than  the  power  of  genius ;  the  exact  type  and  fash- 
ion of  his  mind,  not  less  than  its  general  magnitude,  were  so  dis- 
tinctly shown  through  his  musical,  transparent  style ;  the  exterior 
of  the  man,  the  grand  mystery  of  brow  and  eye,  the  deep  tones, 
the  solemnity,  the  sovereignty,  as  of  those  who  would  build  states, 
where  every  power  and  every  grace  did  seem  to  set  its  seal,  had 
been  made — by  personal  observation,  by  description,  by  the  exag- 
geration even,  of  those  who  had  felt  the  spell  —  by  art,  the  da- 
guerreotype and  picture  and  statue — so  familiar  to  the  American 
eye,  graven  on  the  memory  like  the  Washington  of  Stuart ;  the 
narrative  of  the  mere  incidents  of  his  life  had  been  so  often  told 
(by  some  so  authentically  and  with  such  skill),  and  had  been  so 
literally  committed  to  heart, — that  when  he  died  there  seemed  to 
be  little  left  but  to  say  when  and  how  his  change  came ;  with 
what  dignity,  with  what  possession  of  himself,  with  what  loving 
thought  for  others,  with  what  gratitude  to  God,  uttered  with  un- 
faltering voice,  that  it  was  appointed  to  him  there  to  die  ;  to  say 
how  thus,  leaning  on  the  rod  and  staff  of  the  promise,  he  took  his 
way  into  the  great  darkness  undismayed,  till  death  should  be 
swallowed  up  of  life ;  and  then  to  relate  how  they  laid  him  in 
that  simple  grave,  and  turning  and  pausing,  and  joining  their 
voices  to  the  voices  of  the  sea,  bade  him  hail  and  farewell.  .  .  . 

2.  But  there  were  other  fields  of  oratory  on  which,  under  the 
influence  of  more  uncommon  springs  of  inspiration,  he  exempli- 


CHOATE'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF   WEBSTER.       337 

fied,  in  still  other  forms,  an  eloquence  in  which  I  do  not  know 
that  he  has  had  a  superior  among  men.  Addressing  masses  by 
tens  of  thousands  in  the  open  air,  on  the  urgent  political  ques- 
tions of  the  day;  or  designated  to  lead  the  meditations  of  an 
hour  devoted  to  the  remembrance  of  some  national  era,  or  of 
some  incident  marking  the  progress  of  the  nation,  and  lifting  him 
up  to  a  view  of  what  is,  and  what  is  past,  and  some  indistinct 
revelations  of  the  glory  that  lies  in  the  future,  or  of  some  great 
historical  name,  just  borne  by  the  nation  to  his  tomb — we  have 
learned  that  then  and  there,  at  the  base  of  Bunker  Hill,  before 
the  corner-stone  was  laid,  and  again  when  from  the  finished  col- 
umn the  centuries  looked  on  him;  in  Faneuil  Hall,  mourning  for 
those  with  whose  spoken  or  written  eloquence  of  freedom  its 
arches  had  so  often  resounded ;  on  the  rock  of  Plymouth ;  be- 
fore the  Capitol,  of  which  there  shall  not  be  one  stone  left  on 
another  before  his  memory  shall  have  ceased  to  live — in  such 
scenes,  unfettered  by  the  laws  of  forensic  or  parliamentary  de- 
bate ;  multitudes  uncounted  lifting  up  their  eyes  to  him ;  some 
great  historical  scenes  of  America  around ;  all  symbols  of  her 
glory  and  art  and  power  and  fortune  there ;  voices  of  the  past, 
not  unheard ;  shapes  beckoning  from  the  future,  not  unseen — 
sometimes  that  mighty  intellect,  borne  upwards  to  a  height  and 
kindled  to  an  illumination  which  we  shall  see  no  more,  wrought 
out,  as  it  were  in  an  instant,  a  picture  of  vision,  warning,  predic- 
tion :  the  progress  of  the  nation ;  the  contrasts  of  its  eras ;  the 
heroic  deaths ;  the  motives  to  patriotism ;  the  maxims  and  arts 
imperial  by  which  the  glory  has  been  gathered  and  may  be 
heightened — wrought  out,  in  an  instant,  a  picture  to  fade  only 
when  all  record  of  our  mind  shall  die. 

3.  We  seem  to  see  his  form  and  hear  his  deep,  grave  speech 
everywhere.  By  some  felicity  of  his  personal  life ;  by  some  wise, 
deep,  or  beautiful  word  spoken  or  written ;  by  some  service  of 
his  own,  or  some  commemoration  of  the  services  of  others,  it  has 
come  to  pass  that  "  our  granite  hills,  our  inland  seas,  prairies, 
and  fresh,  unbounded,  magnificent  wilderness ;"  our  encircling 
ocean  ;  the  resting-place  of  the  Pilgrims  ;  our  new-born  sister  of 
the  Pacific ;  our  popular  assemblies ;  our  free  schools ;  all  our 
cherished  doctrines  of  education,  and  of  the  influence  of  religion, 
and  national  policy  and  law,  and  the  Constitution,  give  us  back 

22 


338  WEBSTER. 

his  name.  What  American  landscape  will  you  look  on ;  what 
subject  of  American  interest  will  you  study;  what  source  of  hope 
or  of  anxiety,  as  an  American,  will  you  acknowledge,  that  it  does 
not  recall  him  ?  .  .  . 

4.  But  it  is  time  that  this  eulogy  was  spoken.     My  heart  goes 
back  into  the  coffin  there  with  him,  and  I  would  pause.     I  went 
— it  is  a  day  or  two  since — alone,  to  see  again  the  home  which 
he  so  dearly  loved,  the  chamber  where  he  died,  the  grave  in  which 
they  laid  him — all  habited  as  when 

"  His  look  drew  audience  still  as  night, 
Or  summer's  noontide  air  " — 

till  the  heavens  be  no  more.  Throughout  that  spacious  and  calm 
scene  all  things  to  the  eye  showed  at  first  unchanged.  The  books 
in  the  library;  the  portraits;  the  table  at  which  he  wrote;  the 
scientific  culture  of  the  land ;  the  course  of  agricultural  occupa- 
tion ;  the  coming-in  of  harvests,  fruit  of  the  seed  his  own  hand  had 
scattered ;  the  animals  and  implements  of  husbandry ;  the  trees 
planted  by  him  in  lines,  in  copses,  in  orchards,  by  thousands ;  the 
seat  under  the  noble  elm,  on  which  he  used  to  sit  to  feel  the 
southwest  wind  at  evening,  or  hear  the  breathings  of  the  sea,  or 
the  not  less  audible  music  of  the  starry  heavens,  all  seemed  at 
first  unchanged.  The  sun  of  a  bright  day,  from  which,  however, 
something  of  the  fervors  of  midsummer  were  wanting,  fell  tem- 
perately on  them  all,  filled  the  air  on  all  sides  with  the  utterances 
of  life,  and  gleamed  on  the  long  line  of  ocean.  Some  of  those 
whom  on  earth  he  loved  best  still  were  there.  The  great  mind 
still  seemed  to  preside ;  the  great  presence  to  be  with  you ;  you 
might  expect  to  hear  again  the  rich  and  playful  tones  of  the  voice 
of  the  old  hospitality.  Yet  a  moment  more,  and  all  the  scene 
took  on  the  aspect  of  one  great  monument,  inscribed  with  his 
name,  and  sacred  to  his  memory. 

5.  And  such  it  shall  be  in  all  the  future  of  America  !   The  sen- 
sation of  desolateness  and  loneliness  and  darkness  with  which 
you  see  it  now  will  pass  away ;  the  sharp  grief  of  love  and  friend- 
ship will  become  soothed ;  men  will  repair  thither  as  they  are 
wont  to  commemorate  the  great  days  of  history;  the  same  glance 
shall  take  in,  and  the  same  emotions  shall  greet  and  bless,  the 
harbor  of  the  Pilgrims  and  the  tomb  of  Webster. 


FROM  THE  SPEECH  IN  REPL  Y  TO  HA  YNE.          339 


FROM   THE   SPEECH    IN   REPLY   TO   HAYNE. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  speech  of  which  the  first  of  the  subjoined  extracts 
forms  the  exordium,  and  the  second  the  peroration,  is  known  as  Webster's 
Second  Speech  on  Foot's  Resolution,  In  the  latter  part  of  1829,  Senator  Foot, 
of  Connecticut,  moved  in  the  Senate  a  resolution  in  relation  to  the  disposal  of 
the  public  lands  in  the  West.  On  this  subject  Webster  delivered  a  brief 
speech,  to  which  Senator  Hayne,  of  South  Carolina,  responded.  In  his  speech 
Hayne  departed  widely  from  the  subject  of  the  resolution,  opening  up  a  varie- 
ty of  political  and  constitutional  questions.  This  course  rendered  a  response 
incumbent  upon  Webster,  who  acquitted  himself  in  the  magnificent  speech 
delivered  before  the  United  States  Senate,  January  26,  1830.] 

I. 

1.  When  this  debate,  sir,  was  to  be  resumed,  on  Thursday  morn- 
ing, it  so  happened  that  it  would  have  been  convenient  for  me  to 
be  elsewhere.     The  honorable  gentleman,  however,  did  not  in- 
cline to  put  off  the  discussion  to  another  day.     He  had  a  shot, 
he  said,  to  return,  and  he  wished  to  discharge  it.     That  shot,  sir,  5 
which  he  thus  kindly  informed  us  was  coming,  that  we  might 
stand  out  of  the  way  or  prepare  ourselves  to  fall  by  it  and  die 
with  decency,  has  now  been  received.     Under  all  advantages, 
and  with  expectation  awakened  by  the  tone  which  preceded  it,  it 
has  been  discharged,  and  has  spent  its  force.    It  may  become  me  10 
to  say  no  more  of  its  effect  than  that,  if  nobody  is  found,  after 
all,  either  killed  or  wounded,  it  is  not  the  first  time  in  the  history 
of  human  affairs  that  the  vigor  and  success  of  the  war  have  not 
quite  come  up  to  the  lofty  and  sounding  phrase  of  the  man- 
ifesto.* 15 

2.  The  gentleman,  sir,  in  declining  to  postpone  the  debate,  told 
the  Senate,  with  the  emphasis  of  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  that 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-3.  When  . . .  elsewhere.  What  kind  of  sentence 
grammatically  ?  Rhetorical  ly  ? 

4.  He  had  a  shot,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

5-10.  That  shot .  .  .  force.  To  what  use  does  Webster  in  these  sentences 
turn  Hayne's  metaphor  ? — Point  out  any  ironical  expression. 

10-15.  It ...  manifesto.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? 

16-48.  The  gentleman  .  .  .  aimed.  It  will  be  noted  that,  as  in  paragraph  I 
Webster  occupies  himself  with  tossing  his  antagonist  on  the  point  of  his  own 
metaphor,  so  in  paragraph  2  he  takes  up  another  of  Hayne's  remarks  and 
adroitly  turns  the  edge  of  it  against  him. 


34o  WEBSTER. 

there  was  something  rankling*  here,  of  which  he  wished  to  rid 
himself  by  an  immediate  reply.  In  this  respect,  sir,  I  have  a 
great  advantage  over  the  honorable  gentleman.  There  is  noth-  2a 
ing  here,  sir,  which  gives  me  the  slightest  uneasiness ;  neither 
fear,  nor  anger,  nor  that  which  is  sometimes  more  troublesome 
than  either — the  consciousness  of  having  been  in  the  wrong. 
There  is  nothing  either  originating  here  or  now  received  here  by 
the  gentleman's  shot.  Nothing  originating  here,  for  I  had  not  25 
the  slightest  feeling  of  unkindness  towards  the  honorable  mem- 
ber. Some  passages,*  it  is  true,  had  occurred  since  our  acquaint- 
ance in  this  body  which  I  could  have  wished  might  have  been 
otherwise ;  but  I  had  used  philosophy  and  forgotten  them.  I 
paid  the  honorable  member  the  attention  of  listening  with  re-  3° 
spect  to  his  first  speech ;  and  when  he  sat  down,  though  sur- 
prised, and  I  must  even  say  astonished,  at  some  of  his  opinions, 
nothing  was  farther  from  my  intention  than  to  commence  any 
personal  warfare.  Through  the  whole  of  the  few  remarks  I  made 
in  answer,  I  avoided,  studiously  and  carefully,  everything  which  35 
I  thought  possible  to  be  construed  into  disrespect.  And,  sir, 
while  there  is  thus  nothing  originating  here,  which  I  have  wished 
at  any  time,  or  now  wish,  to  discharge,  I  must  repeat,  also,  that 
nothing  has  been  received  here  which  rankles,  or  in  any  way  gives 
me  annoyance.  I  will  not  accuse  the  honorable  member  of  vio-4o 
lating  the  rules  of  civilized  war ;  I  will  not  say  that  he  poisoned 
his  arrows.  But  whether  his  shafts  were,  or  were  not,  dipped  in 
that  which  would  have  caused  rankling  if  they  had  reached  their 
destination,  there  was  not,  as  it  happened,  quite  strength  enough 
in  the  bow  to  bring  them  to  their  mark.  If  he  wishes  now  to  4s 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. —  20-23.  There  is ...  wrong.  How  is  the  general 
statement  in  the  first  part  of  the  sentence  enforced  by  the  latter  part  ? 

24,  25.  There  is ...  shot.  In  this  sentence  a  double  denial  is  made  :  show 
what  sentences  carry  out  the  first  denial,  and  what  the  second. 

31,  32.  though  surprised.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

40.  I  will  not,  etc.  What  is  there  in  the  form  of  statement  that  adds  great 
force  to  this  sentence  ? — Point  out  the  metaphor. 

42-45.  But  whether . .  .  mark.     Where  is  the  sting  in  this  sentence  ? 

45-48.  If  he  ...  aimed.  Compare  the  last  sentence  of  paragraph  2  with  the 
last  of  paragraph  i  :  note  that  the  former  is,  in  a  modified  form,  an  iteration 
of  the  latter ;  but,  as  hurled  forth  in  paragraph  2,  what  prodigious  increase 
of  momentum  the  statement  has  gained  ! 


FROM  THE  SPEECH  IN  REPLY  TO  HAYNE.          34I 

gather  up  those  shafts,  he  must  look  for  them  elsewhere  •  they 
will  not  be  found  fixed  and  quivering  in  the  object  at  which  they 
were  aimed. 

3.  The  honorable  member  complained  that  I  had  slept  on  his 
speech.     I  must  have  slept  on  it,  or  not  slept  at  all.     The  mo-  50 
ment  the  honorable  member  sat  down,  his  friend  from  Missouri 
rose,  and,  with  much  honeyed  commendation  of  the  speech,  sug- 
gested  that  the   impressions  which  it  had  produced  were  too 
charming  and  delightful  to  be  disturbed  by  other  sentiments  or 
other  sounds,  and  proposed  that  the  Senate   should   adjourn.  55 
Would  it  have  been  quite  amiable  in  me,  sir,  to  interrupt  this  ex- 
cellent good  feeling  ?    Must  I  not  have  been  absolutely  malicious, 

if  I  could  have  thrust  myself  forward  to  destroy  sensations  thus 
pleasing?    Was  it  not  much  better  and  kinder,  both  to  sleep  upon 
them  myself,  and  to  allow  others  also  the  pleasure  of  sleeping  60 
upon  them  ?     But  if  it  be  meant,  by  sleeping  upon  his  speech, 
that  I  took  time  to  prepare  a  reply,  it  is  quite  a  mistake.    Owing 
to  other  engagements,  I  could  not  employ  even  the  interval  be- 
tween the  adjournment  of  the  Senate  and  its  meeting  the  next 
morning  in  attention  to  the  subject  of  this  debate.     Neverthe-  65 
less,  sir,  the  mere  matter  of  fact  is  undoubtedly  true.    I  did  sleep 
on  the  gentleman's  speech,  and  slept  soundly.      And  I  slept 
equally  well  on  his  speech  of  yesterday,  to  which  I  am  now  re- 
plying.    It  is  quite  possible  that  in  this  respect,  also,  I  possess 
some  advantage  over  the  honorable  member,  attributable,  doubt-  70 
less,  to  a  cooler  temperament  on  my  part ;  for,  in  truth,  I  slept 
upon  his  speeches  remarkably  well. 

4.  But  the  gentleman  inquires  why  he  was  made  the  object  of 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 49-72.  In  paragraph  3,  Webster  pursues  the  same 
tactics  as  in  the  two  previous  paragraphs  ;  that  is,  he  seizes  upon  an  observa- 
tion of  his  opponent  and  presses  it  back  upon  him. — Divide  this  paragraph 
into  its  three  principal  parts. 

51.  his  friend.     Senator  Benton. 

56-61.  Would  .  .  .  them  I  What  is  the  effect  of  the  use  of  the  interrogative 
form  in  these  three  sentences  ? 

62.  it  is  quite  a  mistake.  Note  the  temperance  of  the  statement.  A  frothy 
orator  would  have  "  hurled  back  the  imputation,"  etc. 

71.  I  slept,  etc.  What  inference  does  Webster  wish  to  be  drawn  from  this 
statement  ? 


342  WEBSTER. 

such  a  reply  ?  Why  was  he  singled  out  ?  If  an  attack  has  been 
made  on  the  East,  he,  he  assures  us,  did  not  begin  it;  it  was  made  75 
by  the  gentleman  from  Missouri.  Sir,  I  answered  the  gentle- 
man's speech  because  I  happened  to  hear  it ;  and  because,  also, 
I  chose  to  give  an  answer  to  that  speech  which,  if  unanswered,  I 
thought  most  likely  to  produce  injurious  impressions.  I  did  not 
stop  to  inquire  who  was  the  original  drawer  of  the  bill.  I  found  8c 
a  responsible  endorser*  before  me,  and  it  was  my  purpose  to 
hold  him  liable,  and  to  bring  him  to  his  just  responsibility,  with- 
out delay.  But,  sir,  this  interrogatory  of  the  honorable  member 
was  only  introductory  to  another.  He  proceeded  to  ask  me 
whether  I  had  turned  upon  him,  in  this  debate,  from  the  con-  85 
sciousness  that  I  should  find  an  overmatch  if  I  ventured  on  a 
contest  with  his  friend  from  Missouri.  If,  sir,  the  honorable 
member,  modestice  gratia,  had  chosen  thus  to  defer  to  his  friend, 
and  to  pay  him  a  compliment,  without  intentional  disparagement 
to  others,  it  would  have  been  quite  according  to  the  friendly  cour-  90 
tesies  of  debate,  and  not  at  all  ungrateful  to  my  own  feelings.  I 
am  not  one  of  those^sir,  who  esteem  any  tribute  of  regard,  whether 
light  and  occasional,  or  more  serious  and  deliberate,  which  may 
be  bestowed  on  others,  as  so  much  unjustly  withholden  from 
themselves.  But  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  gentleman's  ques-  95 
tion  forbid  me  thus  to  interpret  it.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  con- 
sider it  as  nothing  more  than  a  civility  to  his  friend.  It  had  an 
air  of  taunt  and  disparagement,  something  of  the  loftiness  of  as- 
serted superiority,  which  does  not  allow  me  to  pass  it  over  with- 
out notice.  It  was  put  as  a  question  for  me  to  answer,  and  so  ioa 
put  as  if  it  were  difficult  for  me  to  answer,  whether  I  deemed  the 
member  from  Missouri  an  overmatch  for  myself  in  debate  here. 
It  seems  to  me,  sir,  that  this  is  extraordinary  language,  and  an 
extraordinary  tone,  for  the  discussions  of  this  body. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 80.  drawer  of  the  bill.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
(See  Def.  20.) — Show  how  this  figure  is  carried  out  in  the  subsequent  part  of 
the  sentence. 

87-91.  If . . .  feelings.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? 

88.  moriestiae  gratia,  for  modesty's  sake. 

94.  withholden.     Why  does  Webster  use  this  form  ? 


FROM  THE  SPEECH  IN  REPL  Y  TO  HA  YNE. 


343 


5.  Matches  and  overmatches  !     Those  terms  are  more  appli- 105 
cable  elsewhere  than  here,  and  fitter  for  other  assemblies  than 
this.     Sir,  the  gentleman  seems  to  forget  where  and  what  we 
are.     This  is  a  Senate,  a  Senate  of  equals,  of  men  of  individual 
honor  and  personal  character,  and  of  absolute  independence. 
We  know  no  masters,  we  acknowledge  no  dictators.     This  is  a  no 
hall  for  mutual  consultation  and  discussion ;  not  an  arena  for 
the  exhibition  of  champions.     I  offer  myself,  sir,  as  a  match  for 
no  man  ;  I  throw  the  challenge  of  debate  at  no  man's  feet.    But 
then,  sir,  since  the  honorable  member  has  put  the  question  in  a 
manner  that  calls  for  an  answer,  I  will  give  him  an  answer  ;  and  115 
I  tell  him  that,  holding  myself  to  be  the  humblest  of  the  mem- 
bers here,  I  yet  know  nothing  in  the  arm  of  his  friend  from  Mis- 
souri, either  alone  or  when  aided  by  the  arm  of  his  friend  from 
South  Carolina,  that  need  deter  even  me  from  espousing  what- 
ever opinions  I  may  choose  to  espouse,  from  debating  whenever  120 
I  may  choose  to  debate,  or  from  speaking  whatever  I  may  see 
fit  to  say,  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate.     Sir,  when  uttered  as  mat- 
ter of  commendation  or  compliment,  I  should  dissent  from  noth- 
ing which  the  honorable  member  might  say  of  his  friend.     Still 
less  do  I  put  forth  any  pretensions  of  my  own.     But  when  put  125 
to  me  as  matter  of  taunt,  I  throw  it  back,  and  say  to  the  gentle- 
man that  he  could  possibly  say  nothing  more  likely  than  such  a 
comparison   to  wound   my  pride    of  personal    character.     The 
anger  of  its  tone  rescued  the  remark  from  intentional  irony, 
which  otherwise,  probably,  would  have  been  its  general  accepta- 130 
tion.     But,  sir,  if  it  be  imagined  that  by  this  mutual  quotation 
and  commendation ;  if  it  be  supposed  that,  by  casting  the  char- 
acters of  the  drama,  assigning  to  each  his  part,  to  one  the  at- 
tack, to  another  the  cry  of  onset ;  or  if  it  be  thought  that,  by  a 
loud  and  empty  vaunt  of  anticipated  victory,  any  laurels  are  to  133 
be  won  here ,  if  it  be  imagined,  especially,  that  any  or  all  these 
things  will  shake  any  purpose  of  mine,  I  can  tell  the  honorable 
member,  once  for  all,  that  he  is  greatly  mistaken,  and  that  he  is 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 105-148.  In  paragraph  5,  notice  the  fine  combina- 
tion of  the  different  types  of  sentence — simple,  complex,  and  compound  ;  pe- 
riodic and  loose  ;  long  and  short. — Point  out  examples  of  words  used  figura- 
tively ;  examples  of  words  used  in  a  particularly  felicitous  manner. 


344  WEBSTER. 

dealing  with  one  of  whose  temper  and  character  he  has  yet 
much  to  learn.     Sir,  I  shall  not  allow  myself,  on  this  occasion,  140 
I  hope  on  no  occasion,  to  be  betrayed  into  any  loss  of  temper  : 
but  if  provoked,  as  I  trust  I   never  shall  be,  into  crimination 
and  recrimination,  the  honorable  member  may  perhaps  find  that, 
in  that  contest,  there  will  be  blows  to  take  as  well  as  blows  to 
give  ;  that  others  can  state  comparisons  as  significant,  at  least,  HS 
as  his  own ;  and  that  his  impunity  may  possibly  demand  of  him 
whatever  powers  of  taunt  and  sarcasm  he  may  possess.     I  com- 
mend him  to  a  prudent  husbandry*  of  his  resources. 

II. 

6.  Mr.  President,  I  have  thus  stated  the  reasons  of  my  dis- 
sent to  the  doctrines  which  have  been  advanced  and  maintained.  150 
I  am  conscious  of  having  detained  you  and  the  Senate  much  too 
long.     I  was  drawn  into  the  debate  with  no  previous  delibera- 
tion,* such  as  is  suited  to  the  discussion  of  so  grave  and  impor- 
tant a  subject.     But  it  is  a  subject  of  which  my  heart  is  full,  and 

I  have  not  been  willing  to  suppress  the  utterance  of  its  spontane-  iS5 
ous  sentiments.     I  cannot,  even  now,  persuade  myself  to  relin- 
quish it,  without  expressing,  once  more,  my  deep  conviction  that, 
since  it  respects  nothing  less  than  the  Union  of  the  States,  it  is 
of  most  vital  and  essential  importance  to  the  public  happiness. 

7.  I  profess,  sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept  steadily  in  160 
view  the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole  country,  and  the 
preservation  of  our  Federal  Union.     It  is  to  that  Union  we  owe 
our  safety  at  home,  and  our  consideration  and  dignity  abroad. 

It  is  to  that  Union  that  we  are  chiefly  indebted  for  whatever 
makes  us  most  proud  of  our  country.     That  Union  we  reached  165 
only  by  the  discipline  of  our  virtues  in  the  severe  school  of  ad- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 150.  to.  Query  as  to  this  preposition.— adranced 
and  maintained.  What  is  the  distinction  between  these  words  ? 

152,  153.  deliberation.     Etymology? 

160-162.  Substitute  equivalent  terms  for  the  following  italicized  words  :  "  I 
profess,  sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept  steadily  in  view  the  prosperity 
and  honor  of  the  whole  country,  and  the  preservation  of  our  Federal  Union." 

165.  That  Union.  Notice  the  rhetorical  order  of  the  word  "  Union,"  and  the 
effect  of  this  position  in  .preserving  the  unity  of  the  subject  under  exposition. 


FROM  THE  SPEECH  IN  REPLY  TO  HAYNE.          345 

versity.  It  had  its  origin  in  the  necessities  of  disordered  finance, 
prostrate  commerce,  and  ruined  credit.  Under  its  benign  influ- 
ences, these  great  interests  immediately  awoke,  as  from  the  dead, 
and  sprang  forth  with  newness  of  life.  Every  year  of  its  dura-  i/c 
tion  has  teemed  with  fresh  proofs  of  its  utility  and  its  blessings  ; 
and,  although  our  territory  has  stretched  out  wider  and  wider, 
and  our  population  spread  further  and  further,  they  have  not 
outrun  its  protection  or  its  benefits.  It  has  been  to  us  all  a 
copious  fountain  of  national,  social,  and  personal  happiness.  175 

8.  I  have  not  allowed  myself,  sir,  to  look  beyond  the  Union,  to 
see  what  might  lie  hidden  in  the  dark  recess  behind.  I  have  not 
coolly  weighed  the  chances  of  preserving  liberty  when  the  bonds 
that  unite  us  together  shall  be  broken  asunder.  I  have  not  ac- 
customed myself  to  hang  over  the  precipice  of  disunion,  to  see  180 
whether,  with  my  short  sight,  I  can  fathom  the  depth  of  the 
abyss  below  ;  nor  could  I  regard  him  as  a  safe  counsellor  in  the 
affairs  of  this  government  whose  thoughts  should  be  mainly  bent 
on  considering,  not  how  the  Union  may  be  best  preserved,  but 
how  tolerable  might  be  the  condition  of  the  people  when  it  shall  185 
be  broken  up  and  destroyed.  While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have 
high,  exciting,  gratifying  prospects  spread  out  before  us,  for  us 
and  our  children.  Beyond  that  I  seek  not  to  penetrate  the  veil 
God  grant  that,  in  my  day  at  least,  that  curtain  may  not  rise  ! 
God  grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be  opened  what  lies  be- 190 
hind  !  When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for  the  last 
time,  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on  the  bro- 
ken and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious  Union  ;  on 
States  dissevered,  discordant,  belligerent ;  on  a  land  rent  with 
civil  feuds,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fraternal  blood !  Let  195 
their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance  rather  behold  the  gorgeous 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  167.  It  had  Its  origin,  etc.  Explain  the  historical 
reference.  « 

175.  national,  etc.     How  is  the  climax  made  effective  here  ? 

176-207.  I  have  .  .  .  inseparable!  What  words  are  used  figuratively  in  this 
paragraph  ? — Give  examples  of  majestic  diction. 

189-207.  God  grant.  .  .inseparable!  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See 
Def.  24,  i.) — In  this  peroration  the  Anglo-Saxon  words  are  in  the  proportion 
of  eighty  per  cent.  Select  the  classical  words,  and  commit  the  passage  to 
memory. 


346  WEBSTER. 

ensign  of  the  republic,  now  known  and  honored  throughout  the 
earth,  still  full  high  advanced,  its  arms  and  trophies  *  streaming 
in  their  original  lustre,  not  a  stripe  erased  or  polluted,  nor  a  single 
star  obscured ;  bearing  for  its  motto,  no  such  miserable  inter-  200 
rogatory  as  "  What  is  all  this  worth  ?"  nor  those  other  words  of 
delusion  and  folly,  "  Liberty  first,  and  Union  afterwards ;"  but 
everywhere,  spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living  light,  blazing 
on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and  over  the 
land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heavens,  that  other  205 
sentiment,  dear  to  every  true  American  heart  —  Liberty  and 
Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable ! 


XXIII. 

WASHINGTON    IRVING. 

1783-1859. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  THACKERAY. 

i.  Irving  was  the  first  ambassador  whom  the  New  World  of 
letters  sent  to  the  Old.1     He  was  born  almost  with  the  repub- 

1  Irving  preceded  nearly  all  the  authors  whose  works  we  think  of  as  consti- 
tuting American  literature — Bryant,  Cooper,  Longfellow,  Channing,  Emerson, 


348  IRVING. 

lie;1  the  pater  patriot*  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  child's  head. 
He  bore  Washington's  name  ;  he  came  among  us  bringing  the 
kindest  sympathy,  the  most  artless,  smiling  good-will. 

2.  His  new  country  (which  some  people  here3  might  be  dis- 
posed  to  regard  rather  superciliously)  could  send  us,  as   he 
showed  in  his  own  person,  a  gentleman  who,  though  himself 
born  in  no  very  high  sphere,  was  most  finished,  polished,  easy, 
witty,  quiet,  and  socially  the  equal  of  the  most  refined  Euro- 
peans.    If  Irving's  welcome  in  England  was  a  kind  one,  was  it 
not  also  gratefully  remembered  ?     If  he  ate  our  salt,  did  he  not 
pay  us  with  a  thankful  heart  ? 

3.  In  America  the  love  and  regard  for  Irving  was  a  national 
sentiment.     It  seemed  to  me,  during  a  year's  travel  in  the  coun- 
try, as  if  no  one  ever  aimed  a  blow  at  Irving.     All  men  held 
their  hands  from  that  harmless,  friendly  peace-maker.     I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  see  him  at  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Balti- 
more, and  Washington,  and  remarked  how  in  every  place  he  was 
honored   and   welcomed.      Every    large    city    has    its    "Irving 
House."     The  country  takes  pride  in  the  fame  of  its  men  of 
letters. 

4.  The  gate  of  his  own  charming  little  domain  on  the  beauti- 
ful  Hudson  River4  was  forever  swinging  before  visitors  who 
came  to  him.     He  shut  no  one  out.     I  had  seen  many  pictures 
of  his  house,  and  read  descriptions  of  it,  in  both  of  which  it  was 
treated  with  a  not  unusual  American  exaggeration.     It  was  but 
a  pretty  little  cabin  of  a  place  ;  the  gentleman  of  the  press  who 
took  notes  of  it,  while  his  kind  old  host  was  sleeping,  might  have 
visited  the  house  in  a  couple  of  minutes. 

5.  And  how  came  it  that  this  house  was  so  small,  when  Mr. 

Whittier,  Hawthorne,  Holmes,  and  the  rest.  Two  great  writers,  and  two  only, 
appeared  during  the  colonial  period — Benjamin  Franklin  and  Jonathan  Ed- 
wards ;  but  the  one  was  a  philosopher,  the  other  a  theologian,  and  neither  be- 
longed to  the  literary  guild  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term.  Irving  was  a  year 
younger  than  Daniel  Webster. 

1  Born  April  3, 1783  ;  on  the  iQth  of  the  same  month  Washington  proclaimed 
the  news  of  peace  in  his  camp  at  Newburgh,  N.  Y. 

2  "  The  father  of  his  country." 
s  That  is,  in  England. 

4  "  Sunnyside :"  the  railroad  station  is  called  Irvington,  about  twenty-five 
miles  from  New  York  city. 


THACKERAY'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  IRVING.      349 

Irving's  books  were  sold  by  hundreds  of  thousands — nay,  mill- 
ions ;  when  his  profits  were  known  to  be  large,  and  the  hab- 
its of  life  of  the  good  old  bachelor  were  notoriously  modest 
and  simple  ?  He  had  loved  once  in  his  life.  The  lady  he 
loved  died ;  and  he,  whom  all  the  world  loved,  never  sought  to 
replace  her. 

6.  I   can't  say  how  much   the   thought  of  that   fidelity   has 
touched  me.     Does  not  the  very  cheerfulness  of  his  after-life 
add  to  the  pathos  of  that  untold  story  ?     To  grieve  always  was 
not  in  his  nature  ;  or,  when  he  had  his  sorrow,  to  bring  all  the 
world  in  to  condole  with  him  and  bemoan  it.     Deep  and  quiet 
he  lays  the  love  of  his  heart,  and  buries  it,  and  grass  and  flowers 
grow  over  the  scarred  ground  in  due  time. 

7.  Irving  had  such  a  small  house  and  such  narrow  rooms  be- 
cause there  was  a  great  number  of  people  to  occupy  them.     He 
could  only  live  very  modestly  because  the  wifeless,  childless  man 
had  a  number  of  children  to  whom  he  was  as  a  father.     He  had 
as  many  as  nine  nieces,  I  am  told — I  saw  two  of  these  ladies  at 
his  house — with  all  of  whom  the  dear  old  man  had  shared  the 
produce  of  his  labor  and  genius.     "  Be  a  good  man,  my  dear" 
One  can't  but  think  of  these  last  words  of  the  veteran  Chief  of 
Letters,  who  had  tasted  and  tested  the  value  of  worldly  success, 
admiration,  prosperity.     Was  Irving  not  good  ?  and  of  his  works, 
was  not  his  life  the  best  part  ? 

8.  In  his  family,  gentle,  generous,  good-humored,  affectionate, 
self-denying ;  in  society,  a  delightful  example  of  complete  gen- 
tlemanhood  ;  quite  unspoiled  by  prosperity ;  never  obsequious 
to  the  great  (or,  worse  still,  to  the  base  and  mean,  as  some  pub- 
lic men  are  forced  to  be  in  his  and  other  countries) ;  eager  to 
acknowledge  every  contemporary's  merit;  always  kind  and  af- 
fable with  the  young  members  of  his  calling ;  in  his  professional 
bargains  and  mercantile  dealings  delicately  honest  and  grateful. 
He  was,  at  the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  charming  masters  of 
our  lighter  language  ;  the  constant  friend  to  us  and  our  nation  • 
to  men  of  letters  doubly  dear,  not  for  his  wit  and  genius  merely, 
but  as  an  exemplar  of  goodness,  probity,  and  a  pure  life. 


35° 


IRVING. 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 

[INTRODUCTION.— The  paper  here  given  is  from  the  Sketch  Book,  a  collec- 
tion of  essays  written  in  England  during  Irving's  second  visit  to  that  country 
(1815).  These  were  sent  home,  and,  during  1818-19,  were  published  in  parts 
in  New  York.] 

1.  On  one  of  those  sober  and  rather  melancholy  days  in  the 
latter  part  of  autumn,  when  the  shadows  of  morning  and  evening 
almost  mingle  together,  and  throw  a  gloom  over  the  decline  of 
the  year,  I  passed  several  hours  in  rambling  about  Westminster 
Abbey.     There  was  something  congenial*  to  the  season  in  the  3 
mournful   magnificence  of  the  old  pile  ;  and  as  I  passed  its 
threshold,  it  seemed  like  stepping  back  into  the  regions  of  an- 
tiquity, and  losing  myself  among  the  shades  of  former  ages. 

2.  I  entered  from   the   inner  court  of  Westminster  School, 
through  a  long,  low,  vaulted  passage,  that  had  an  almost  sub-  ii 
terranean  look,  being  dimly  lighted  in  one  part  by  circular  per- 
forations in  the  massive  walls.     Through  this  dark  avenue  I 


NOTES. — Lines  4, 5.  Westminster  Abbey. 

See  Addison's  paper,  page  138, 
note  2.     (For    "  minster  "  and 
"  abbey,"  see  Glossary.) 
9.  Westminster  School.      In  the  reign 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  Westmin- 


ster Abbey  was  made  a  "colle- 
giate church."  Westminster 
School  is  a  part  of  the  colle- 
giate establishment,  and  is  en- 
dowed out  of  the  revenues  of 
the  former  abbey. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  1-8.  The  student  will  observe  the  beautiful  sim« 
plicity  with  which  the  introduction  to  this  paper  is  made  in  two  sentences. 

1-5.  On  one  ...  Abbey.  Grammatically,  what  kind  of  sentence  ?  Rhetori- 
cally, period  or  loose  sentence? — What  two  epithets  are  applied  to  "days?'' 
Is  this  a  literal  or  a  figurative  use  of  these  words  ? — What  fault  mav  be  found 
with  the  expression  "  mingle  together  ?" 

5-8.  There  was  . .  .  ages.  Point  out  an  instance  of  alliteration  in  this  sen- 
tence.— Point  out  a  simile. 

9-27.  I  entered  . .  .  decay.  Notice  the  admirable  variety  of  sentences  (as  to 
kind  and  length)  in  paragraph  2. — How  many  sentences  ?  How  many  simple  ? 
Complex?  Compound?  —  What  kind  of  sentence  (and  that  of  how  many 
members)  rounds  off  the  paragraph  ?— Which  sentence  brings  before  the  mind 
a  vivid  picture,  and  hence  is  picturesque  ? 

\  i,  12.  Substitute  Anglo-Saxon  words  for  the  italicized  words  of  Latin  origin 
in  the  phrase  "by  circular  perforations  in  the  massive  walls." 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


351 


had  a  distant  view  of  the  cloisters,*  with  the  figure  of  an  old 
verger,*  in  his  black  gown,  moving  along  their  shadowy  vaults, 
and  seeming  like  a  spectre  *  from  one  of  the  neighboring  tombs.  I5 
The  approach  to  the  abbey  through  these  gloomy  monastic  re- 
mains prepares  the  mind  for  its  solemn  contemplation.     The 
cloisters  still  retain  something  of  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of 
former  days.     The   gray  walls  are  discolored   by   damps   and 
crumbling  with  age;   a  coat  of  hoary  moss  has  gathered  over 20 
the  inscriptions  of  the  mural  *  monuments,  and  obscured  the 
death's-heads  and  other  funereal  emblems.     The  sharp  touches 
of  the  chisel  are  gone  from  the  rich  tracery  of  the  arches  ;  the 
roses  which  adorned  the  keystones  have  lost  their  leafy  beauty ; 
everything  bears  marks  of  the  gradual  dilapidations  *  of  time,  25 
which  yet  has  something  touching  and  pleasing  in  its  very  de- 
cay. 

3.  The  sun  was  pouring  down  a  yellow  autumnal  ray  into  the 
square  of  the,  cloisters,  beaming  upon  a  scanty  plot  of  grass  in 
the  centre,  and  lighting  up  an  angle  of  the  vaulted  passage  with  n 
a  kind  of  dusky  splendor.  From  between  the  arcades  the  eye 
glanced  up  to  a  bit  of  blue  sky  or  a  passing  cloud,  and  beheld 
the  sun-gilt  pinnacles*  of  the  abbey  towering  into  the  azure 
heaven. 


13.  cloisters.  A  cloister  is  a  covered 
arcade  forming  part  of  a  mo- 
nastic or  collegiate  establish- 
ment, surrounding  the  inner 
quadrangular  area  of  the  build- 
ings, with  numerous  large  win- 
dows looking  into  the  quadran- 
gle. 


14.  rerger,  beadle,  or  attendant. 

19.  damps,  moisture. 

24.  keystones.    A  keystone  is  the  stone 

on   the   top   or   middle   of  an 

arch  or  vault  which  binds  the 

work. 
29.  square  of  the   cloisters,  the   inner 

quadrangular  area.  See  note  13. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 13.  cloisters.    Etymology? 

22.  funereal.  Distinguish  between  the  adjectives  funereal  and  funeral. 
(Glossary.) 

22-27.  A  vigorous  mode  of  statement  is  first  to  specify  and  then  to  general- 
ize. Show  how  the  principle  is  exemplified  in  this  sentence. 

25.  dilapidations.  What  is  the  primary  signification  of  dilapidation?  Is 
there  a  peculiar  felicity  in  its  use  here  ? 


352 


IRVING. 


4.  As  I  paced  the  cloisters,  sometimes  contemplating  this  min-  35 
gled  picture  of  glory  and  decay,  and  sometimes  endeavoring  to 
decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones  which  formed  the 
pavement  beneath  my  feet,  my  eye  was  attracted  to  three  figures, 
rudely  carved  in  relief,  but  nearly  worn  away  by  the  footsteps  of 
many  generations.     They  were  the  effigies*  of  three  of  the  early  40 
abbots ;  the  epitaphs  *  were  entirely  effaced  ;  the  names  alone 
remained,  having  no  doubt  been  renewed  in  later  times  (Vita- 
lis  .  Abbas  .  1082,  and   Gislebertus  .  Crispinus  .  Abbas  .  1114, 
and  Laurentius  .  Abbas  .  1176).      I  remained  some  little  while 
musing  over  these  casual  relics  of  antiquity,  thus  left  like  wrecks  45 
upon  this  distant  shore  of  time,  telling  no  tale  but  that  such  be- 
ings had  been  and  had  perished  ;  teaching  no  moral  but  the  futil- 
ity of  that  pride  which  hopes  still  to  exact  homage  *  in  its  ashes, 
and  to  live  in  an  inscription.     A  little  longer,  and  even  these 
faint  records  will  i>e  obliterated,  and  the  monument  will  cease  to  s< 
be  a  memorial. 

5.  While  I  was  yet  looking  down  upon  these  gravestones,  I 
was  roused  by  the  sound  of  the  abbey  clock,  reverberating  from 
buttress*  to  buttress,  and  echoing  among  the  cloisters.     It  is  al- 


39.  In  relief.     A  figure  in  relief  vs.  one 

that  projects  above  or  beyond 
the  ground  or  plane  on  which 
it  is  formed.  Relief  is  of  three 
kinds — high,  demi,  and  low  re- 
lief. The  last,  low  relief  (basso- 
rilievo),  is  where  the  figure  pro- 
jects but  little  ;  and  in  this  kind 
of  relief  are  the  figures  spoken 
of  above. 

40.  effigies.      An  effigy  is  a  likeness 


or  representation  of  a  person, 
whether  a  full  figure  or  a  picture 
of  the  whole  or  a  part,  in  sculpt- 
ure, bass-relief,  etc. 

41.  abbots,  superiors  or  governors  of 
abbeys. 

43.  Abbas  =  abbot. 

54.  buttress,  a  projecting  support  to 
the  exterior  of  a  wall,  most 
commonly  applied  to  churches 
in  the  Gothic  style. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 35-40.  As  I  passed  . .  .  generations.  What  kind  of 
sentence  rhetorically?  Change  into  the  direct  order. 

35,  36.  mingled  picture  of  glory  and  decay.  What  were  the  points  of  glory  in 
iie  "  mingled  picture  ?"  What  the  features  of  "  decay  ?" 

45.  casual  relics  of  antiquity.  Explain.  —  left  like  wrecks,  etc.  What  is  the 
figure  ? — What  fact  in  the  inscription  authorizes  the  phrase  "distant  shore  of 
time  ?" 

48.  pride  which  hopes,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  ?     (See  Def.  22.  ^ 

51.  memorial.  What  is  a  memorial  ?  Why  will  the  monument  "cease  to  be 
a  memorial  ?" 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  353 

most  startling  to  hear  this  warning  of  departed  time  sounding  ss 
among  the  tombs,  and  telling  the  lapse  of  the  hour,  which,  like  a 
billow,  has  rolled  us  onward  towards  the  grave.     I  pursued  my 
walk  to  an  arched  door  opening  to  the  interior  of  the  abbey. 
On  entering  here,  the  magnitude  of  the  building  breaks  fully 
upon  the    mind,  contrasted  with  the  vaults  *  of  the  cloisters.  60 
The  eyes  gaze  with  wonder  at  clustered  columns  of  gigantic  di- 
mensions, with  arches  springing  from  them  to  such  an  amazing 
height ;  and  man  wandering  about  their  bases  shrunk  into  in- 
significance in  comparison  with  his  own  handiwork.     The  spa- 
ciousness and  gloom  of  this  vast  edifice  produce  a  profound  and  65 
mysterious  awe.*     We  step  cautiously  and  softly  about,  as  if 
fearful  of  disturbing  the  hallowed  silence  of  the  tomb  ;  while 
every  footfall  whispers  along  the  walls,  and  chatters  among  the 
sepulchres,  making  us  more  sensible  *  of  the  quiet  we  have  in- 
terrupted.*   It  seems  as  if  the  awful  nature  of  the  place  presses  7° 
down  upon  the  soul,  and  hushes  the  beholder  into  noiseless  rev- 
erence.    We  feel  that  we  are  surrounded  by  the  congregated 
bones  of  the  great  men  of  past  times,  who  have  filled  history  with 
their  deeds,  and  the  earth  with  their  renown. 

6.  And  yet  it  almost  provokes  a  smile  at  the  vanity  of  human  75 
ambition  to  see  how  they  are  crowded  together  and  jostled  in 
the  dust :  what  parsimony  is  observed  in  doling  *  out  a  scanty 
nook,  a  gloomy  corner,  a  little  portion  of  earth,  to  those  whom, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 57.  has  rolled.  Is  this  expression  literal  or  meta- 
phorical ?  Does  a  billow  roll  anything  ?  Is  "  rolled  "  the  best  word  then  ? 
Substitute  a  better. 

63.  and  man.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

66.  awe.  Discriminate  between  "  awe  "  and  dread  and  reverence  (Glossary, 
"  awe "),  and  show  that  "  awe  "  is  the  fitting  word  here.  To  the  thought 
raised  by  the  word  "awe,"  show  what  is  added  by  the  epithets  "profound" 
and  "mysterious." 

70.  as  if.     Query  as  to  the  use  of  "  if." 

75.  it  almost  provokes,  etc.  "  It  "  is  the  anticipative  subject  to  provokes  : 
what  is  the  full  logical  subject?  (This  instance  well  illustrates  the  conven- 
ience of  this  idiom.) 

77.  parsimony.     Etymology? — doling.     Etymology? 

77,  78.  How  many  expressions  does  Irving  employ  to  denote  the  small  space 
given  to  each  of  the  dead  great  ones?  Is  this  combination  chargeable  with 
tautology  ?  Give  reasons  pro  or  con. 

23 


354 


IRVING 


when  alive,  kingdoms  could  not  satisfy;  and  how  many  shapes 
and  forms  and  artifices  are  devised  to  catch  the  casual  notice  of  & 
the  passenger,  and  save  from  forgetfulness,  for  a  few  short  years, 
a  name  which  once  aspired  to  occupy  ages  of  the  world's  thought 
and  admiration. 

7.  I  passed  some  time  in  Poets'  Corner,  which  occupies  an 
end  of  one  of  the  transepts  or  cross  aisles  of  the  abbey.     The  s« 
monuments  are  generally  simple,  for  the  lives  of  literary  men  af- 
ford no  striking  themes  for  the  sculptor.*    Shakespeare  and  Ad- 
dison  have  statues  erected  to  their  memories  ;  but  the  greater  part 
have  busts,  medallions/  and  sometimes  mere  inscriptions.     Not- 
withstanding the  simplicity  of  these  memorials,  I  have  always  90 
observed  that  the  visitors  to  the  abbey  remained  longest  about 
them.      A  kinder  and  fonder  feeling  takes  the  place  of  that 
cold  curiosity  or  vague  admiration  with  which  they  gaze  on  the 
splendid  monuments  of  the  great  and  the  heroic.     They  linger 
about  these  as  about  the  tombs  of  friends  and  companions  f  95 
for  indeed  there  is  something  of  companionship  between  the 


84.  Poets*  Comer.  Poets'  Corner  oc- 
cupies nearly  a  half  of  the  south 
transept.  It  is  so  called  from 
the  tombs  and  honorary  monu- 
ments of  Chaucer  (died  1400), 
Spenser,  Shakespeare,  and  many 
others  of  the  greatest  English 
poets. 

87, 88.  Shakespeare  and  Addison  .  .  . 
statues.  The  monument  to 
Shakespeare  was  erected  in  the 
reign  of  George  II.  "  Shake- 


speare stands  like  a  sentiment- 
al dandy."  —  CUNNINGHAM  : 
Hand  -  book  of  London.  The 
body  of  Shakespeare  lies  in  the 
church  at  Stratford-on-Avon. 
The  statue  of  Addison  (by 
Westmacott)  was  erected  1809; 
his  body  lies  in  another  part  of 
the  abbey  (Henry  VII.'s  Chap- 
el). 

89.  medallions,     circular     tablets     on 
which  figures  are  embossed. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 84-110.  To  what  is  this  paragraph  devoted  ?— State 
briefly,  in  your  own  language,  the  different  feelings  with  which  visitors  (of 
sensibility)  regard  the  memorials  of  illustrious  authors  and  those  of  the  mere- 
ly worldly  great. — Explain  what  is  meant  by  the  remark  that  the  intercourse 
between  the  author  and  his  fellow-men  is  "ever  new,"  etc. 

88.  hare.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  ? 

89-92.  Notwithstanding  . . .  them.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

95.  these.  What  noun  does  "  these  "  represent  ?  Is  there  any  ambiguity 
in  the  reference  ? 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


355 


author  and  the  reader.  Other  men  are  known  to  posterity  only 
through  the  medium  of  history,  which  is  continually  growing 
faint  and  obscure  ;  but  the  intercourse  between  the  author  and 
his  fellow  men  is  ever  new,  active,  and  immediate.  He  has  100 
lived  for  them  more  than  for  himself  ;  he  has  sacrificed  sur- 
rounding enjoyments,  and  shut  himself  up  from  the  delights  of 
social  life,  that  he  might  the  more  intimately  commune*  with 
distant  minds  and  distant  ages.  Well  may  the  world  cherish 
his  renown  ;  for  it  has  been  purchased,  not  by  deeds  of  violence  105 
and  blood,  but  by  the  diligent  dispensation  of  pleasure.  Well 
may  posterity  be  grateful  to  his  memory ;  for  he  has  left  it  an 
inheritance,  not  of  empty  names  and  sounding  actions,  but  whole 
treasures  of  wisdom,  bright  gems  of  thought,  and  golden  veins 
of  language.  no' 

8.  From  Poets'  Corner  I  continued  my  stroll  towards  that  part 
of  the  abbey  which  contains  the  sepulchres  of  the  kings.  I  wan- 
dered among  what  once  were  chapels,*  but  which  are  now  occu- 
pied by  the  tombs  and  monuments  of  the  great.  At  every  turn 
I  met  with  some  illustrious  name,  or  the  cognizance  *  of  some  us 
powerful  house  renowned  in  history.  As  the  eye  darts  into 
these  dusky  chambers  of  death,  it  catches  glimpses  of  quaint  ef- 
figies ;  some  kneeling  in  niches,  as  if  in  devotion  ;  others 
stretched  upon  the  tombs,  with  hands  piously  pressed  together  ; 


101,  102.  sacrificed  surrounding  enjoy- 
ments. Spenser,  who  is  buried 
in  the  abbey,  died  in  West- 
minster "  from  lack  of  bread," 
as  is  recorded.  The  same  can 
be  said  of  not  a  few  of  the 


other  illustrious  literary  men 
who  lie  in  this  splendid  mauso- 
leum. 

115.  cognizance,  a  badge  or  other  em- 
blem of  a  noble  "  house "  or 
family. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 97-100.  Other  men  .  .  .  immediate.  What  is  the 
figure  ?  (See  Def.  18.) 

104.  Well  may  the  world,  etc.     How  is  "  well  "  here  made  emphatic? 

105.  for  it  has  been  purchased,  etc.    Effectiveness  is  obtained  in  this  sentence 
by  a  negative  form  of  statement  first,  and  then  the  positive. 

106-110.  Well  may  . .  .  language.  Remark  on  the  mode  of  statement  with 
reference  to  the  point  in  the  last  note. 

112.  which  contains,  etc.  Change  from  an  adjective  clause  to  an  adjective 
phrase. 

118.  some.     With  what  noun  is  "some"  in  apposition? 


356  IRVING. 

warriors  in  armor,  as  if  reposing  after  battle ;  prelates  with  cro-  IM 
siers  *  and  mitres,*  and  nobles  in  robes  and  coronets,*  lying  as 
it  were  in  state.  In  glancing  over  this  scene,  so  strangely  pop- 
ulous, yet  where  every  form  is  so  still  and  silent,  it  seems  almost 
as  if  we  were  treading  a  mansion  of  that  fabled  city  where  every 
being  had  been  suddenly  transmuted  into  stone.  ,25 

9.  I  paused  to  contemplate  a  tomb  on  which  lay  the  effigy  of 
a  knight  in  complete  armor.  A  large  buckler  was  on  one  arm ; 
the  hands  were  pressed  together  in  supplication  upon  the  breast  \ 
the  face  was  almost  covered  by  the  morion ;  the  legs  were  cross- 
ed, in  token  of  the  warrior's  having  been  engaged  in  the  holy  iy 
war.  It  was  the  tomb  of  a  crusader  * — of  one  of  those  military 
enthusiasts  *  who  so  strangely  mingled  religion  and  romance,* 
and  whose  exploits  form  the  connecting-link  between  fact  and  fic- 
tion, between  the  history  and  the  fairy-tale.  There  is  something 
extremely  picturesque  *  in  the  tombs  of  these  adventurers,  decorat- 135 
ed  as  they  are  with  rude  armorial  bearings  and  Gothic  sculpture. 
They  comport  with  the  antiquated  chapels  in  which  they  are  gen- 
erally found ;  and  in  considering  them  the  imagination  is  apt  to 
kindle  with  the  legendary  associations,  the  romantic  fiction,  the 


1 20,  121.  crosier,  the  official  staff  of 
an  archbishop,  terminating  at 
the  top  in  a  cross. — mitre,  a  cov- 
ering for  the  head  worn  on 
solemn  occasions  by  bishops, 
cardinals,  abbots,  etc. — coronet, 
an  inferior  crown  worn  by  no- 
blemen. 

124.  that  fabled  city.  See  Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments. 

127,  buckler,  a  kind  of  shield  or  de- 
fensive piece  of  armor:  it  was 


often  so  long  as  to  cover  nearly 
the  whole  body. 

129.  morion,  a  kind  of  open  helmet  re- 
sembling a  hat. 

131.  crusader,  a  person  who  went  on 
one  of  the  crusades,  or  expedi- 
tions to  Palestine  to  recover  the 
Holy  Land  from  the  hands  of 
the  Saracens.  They  took  place 
during  the  I2th  and  i3th  centu- 
ries. 

136.  armorial  bearings,  emblems  or  de- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  122-125.  In  glancing  .  .  .  stone.  Period  or  loose 
sentence  ? — Change  into  the  loose  order. 

126-157.  I  paused  .  .  .  virtuous.  Which  part  of  this  paragraph  is  descriptive  ? 
Which  part  is  reflective  ? 

131-134.  It  was  . . .  fairy-tale.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

135.  adventurers.     Is  this  word  here  used  in  its  depreciatory  sense  ? 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


357 


chivalrous  pomp  and  pageantry,  which  poetry  has  spread  over  the  140 
wars  for  the  sepulchre  of  Christ.  They  are  the  relics  of  times  ut- 
terly gone  by,  of  beings  passed  from  recollection,  of  customs  and 
manners  with  which  ours  have  no  affinity.  They  are  like  ob- 
jects from  some  strange  and  distant  land,  of  which  we  have  no 
certain  knowledge,  and  about  which  all  our  conceptions  are  145 
vague  and  visionary.  There  is  something  extremely  solemn  and 
awful  in  those  effigies  on  Gothic  tombs,  extended  as  if  in  the 
sleep  of  death  or  in  the  supplication  of  the  dying  hour.  They 
have  an  effect  infinitely  more  impressive  on  my  feelings  than  the 
fanciful  attitudes,  the  overwrought  conceits,  and  allegorical  150 
groups  which  abound  on  modern  monuments.  I  have  been 
struck,  also,  with  the  superiority  of  many  of  the  old  sepulchral 
inscriptions.  There  was  a  noble  way,  in  former  times,  of  saying 
things  simply,  and  yet  saying  them  proudly ;  and  I  do  not  know 
an  epitaph  that  breathes  a  loftier  consciousness  of  family  worth  iSS 


vices  on  an  escutcheon,  or  coat 
of  arms. — Gothic  sculpture.  "  In 
an  era  of  partial  and  prejudiced 
ideas,  buildings  of  this  style 
were  contemptuously  called 
'Gothic,'  because  it  was  sup- 
posed that  only  such  barbarians 
as  the  old  Goths  could  produce 
such  works.  Latterly,  however, 
this  Gothic  style  has  won  an 
honorable  place,  and  may  justly 
bear  its  old  name  ;  the  more  so, 
that  the  experimental  names  of 
'Teutonic,"oldTeutonic,'  'Ger- 
man,' or  '  pointed-arch  style  ' 


are  neither  exact  nor  exhaust- 
ive."— LUBKE:  History  of  Art, 
ii.,  5- 

155.  an  epitaph,  etc.  In  a  Spectator 
paper,  Addison  writes  more 
fully  :  "  I  am  very  much  pleased 
with  a  passage  in  the  inscrip- 
tion on  a  monument  to  the  late 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  New- 
castle. '  Her  name  was  Mar- 
garet Lucas,  younger  sister  to 
the  Lord  Lucas  of  Colchester, 
a  noble  family ;  for  all  the 
brothers  were  valiant,1  and  all 
the  sisters  virtuous.' " 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 140.  which  poetry  hag  spread,  etc.  Do  you  know  of 
any  famous  Italian  poem  on  the  crusades  ?  What  modern  novelist  has  thrown 
around  them  the  colors  of  romance  ? 

146.  vague  and  visionary.  Note  alliteration.  What  is  the  precise  meaning 
of  "visionary  "  as  here  used? 

150.  overwrought  conceits.     Explain. 


1  Irving  has  miscopied  the  word  as  "  brave  " — perhaps  an  instance  of  what 
is  sometimes  called  heterophemy. 


358  IRVING. 

and  honorable  lineage*  than  one  which  affirms  of  a  noble  house 
that  "all  the  brothers  were  brave,  and  all  the  sisters  virtuous." 

10.  In  the  opposite  transept  to  Poets'  Corner  stands  a  monu- 
ment which  is  among  the  most  renowned  achievements  of  modern 
art,  but  which  to  me  appears  horrible  rather  than  sublime.    It  is  160 
the  tomb  of  Mrs.  Nightingale,  by  Roubillac.    The  bottom  of  the 
monument  is  represented  as  throwing  open  its  marble  doors,  and 

a  sheeted  skeleton  is  starting  forth.  The  shroud  is  falling  from 
his  fleshless  frame  as  he  launches  his  dart  at  his  victim.  She  is 
sinking  into  her  affrighted  husband's  arms,  who  strives,  with  vain  165 
and  frantic  effort,  to  avert  the  blow.  The  whole  is  executed  with 
terrible  truth  and  spirit ;  we  almost  fancy  we  hear  the  gibbering 
yell  of  triumph  bursting  from  the  distended  jaws  of  the  spectre. 
But  why  should  we  thus  seek  to  clothe  death  with  unnecessary 
terrors,  and  to  spread  horrors  round  the  tomb  of  those  we  love  ?  170 
The  grave  should  be  surrounded  by  everything  that  might  in- 
spire tenderness  and  veneration  for  the  dead,  or  that  might  win 
the  living  to  virtue.  It  is  the  place,  not  of  disgust  and  dismay, 
but  of  sorrow  and  meditation. 

11.  While  wandering  about  these  gloomy  vaults  and  silent  175 
aisles,  studying  the  records  of  the  dead,  the  sound  of  busy  exist- 
ence from  without  occasionally  reaches  the  ear — the  rumbling  of 
the  passing  equipage,  the  murmur  of  the  multitude,  or  perhaps 
the  light  laugh  of  pleasure.     The  contrast  is  striking  with  the 
deathlike  repose  around ;  and  it  has  a  strange  effect  upon  the  iSo 
feelings,  thus  to  hear  the  surges*  of  active  life  hurrying  along, 
and  beating  against  the  very  walls  of  the  sepulchre. 

12.  I  continued  in  this  way  to  move  from  tomb  to  tomb,  and  • 
from  chapel  to  chapel.     The  day  was  gradually  wearing  away; 
the  distant  tread  of  loiterers  about  the  abbey  grew  less  and  less  185 
frequent;  the  sweet -tongued  bell  was  summoning  to  evening 


161.  tomb  of  Mrs.  Nightingale,  by  Ron- 

billac.  The  monument  is,  in 
point  of  fact,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Nightingale.  Mrs.  Nightingale 
(nte  Lady  Elizabeth  Shirley) 
was  the  wife  of  Joseph  Gas- 


coigne  Nightingale.  —  Louis 
Francois  Roubillac  (1695-1762) 
was  a  distinguished  French 
monumental  sculptor,  most  of 
whose  life  was  passed  in  Eng- 
land. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


359 


prayers ;  and  I  saw  at  a  distance  the  choristers,*  in  their  white 
surplices,*  crossing  the  aisle  and  entering  the  choir.  I  stood 
before  the  entrance  to  Henry  the  Seventh's  Chapel.  A  flight  of 
steps  leads  up  to  it,  through  a  deep  and  gloomy  but  magnificent  190 
arch.  Great  gates  of  brass,  richly  and  delicately  wrought,  turn 
heavily  upon  their  hinges,  as  if  proudly  reluctant  to  admit  the 
feet  of  common  mortals  into  this  most  gorgeous  of  sepulchres. 

13.  On  entering,  the  eye  is  astonished  by  the  pomp  of  archi- 
tecture and  the  elaborate  beauty  of  sculptured  detail.    The  very  195 
walls  are  wrought  into  universal  ornament,  incrusted  with  tracery, 
and  scooped  into  niches,  crowded  with  the  statues  of  saints  and 
martyrs.    Stone  seems,  by  the  cunning  labor  of  the  chisel,  to  have 
been  robbed  of  its  weight  and  density,  suspended  aloft,  as  if  by 
magic,  and  the  fretted  roof  achieved  with  the  wonderful  minute-  200 
ness  and  airy  security  of  a  cobweb. 

14.  Along  the  sides  of  the  chapel  are  the  lofty  stalls  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Bath,  richly  carved  of  oak,  though  with  the  gro- 
tesque* decorations  of  Gothic  architecture.     On  the  pinnacles 
of  the  stalls  are  affixed  the  helmets  and  crests  of  the  knights,  205 
with  their  scarfs  and  swords ;  and  above  them  are  suspended 


187,  1 88.  choristers     .     .     .     snrpHces. 

"  Chorister,"  one  of  a  choir  (not 
necessarily  one  who  leads  a 
choir — the  sense  in  the  United 
States).  "Surplice,"  a  white 
0zw-garment. 

189.  Henry  the  Seyenth's  Chapel.  It  is 
sometimes  called  the  Chapel  of 
the  Virgin  Mary.  "  The  en- 
trance gates  are  of  oak,  orna- 
mented with  brass,  gilt,  and 
wrought  into  various  devices. 
The  chapel  consists  of  a  central 
aisle,  with  five  small  chapels  at 
the  east  end,  and  two  side  aisles 
north  and  south." — CUNNING- 
HAM. 

191.  gates  of  brass.  Not  literally  ac- 
curate (see  preceding  note  for 
the  precise  details). 

200.  fretted.     See  Gray's  Elegy,  page 


199,  line  39,  of  this  book,  and 
compare  his  "fretted  vault." 
203.  Knights  of  the  Bath.  "  The  ban- 
ners and  stalls  appertain  to  the 
Knights  of  the  Most  Honora- 
ble Military  Order  of  the  Bath, 
an  order  of  merit  next  in  rank, 
in  this  country,  to  the  Most 
Noble  Order  of  the  Garter  :  the 
knights  were  formerly  installed 
in  this  chapel."  —  MURRAY: 
Hand-book  of  London.  "Knights 
of  the  Bath  "  are  found  in  the 
early  history  of  the  English 
sovereignty,  being  persons  who 
were  made  knights  in  some  pe- 
culiar manner,  of  which  bathing 
constituted  a  part  of  the  cere- 
mony—  the  occasion  being  a 
coronation,  royal  marriages,  etc. 
— Penny  Cyclopedia. 


36o  IRVING. 

their  banners,  emblazoned  with  armorial  bearings,  and  contrast- 
ing the  splendor  of  gold  and  purple  and  crimson  with  the  cold 
gray  fretwork  of  the  roof.  In  the  midst  of  this  grand  mauso- 
leum* stands  the  sepulchre  of  its  founder — his  effigy,  with  that  210 
of  his  queen,  extended  on  a  sumptuous  tomb,  and  the  whole  sur- 
rounded by  a  superbly  wrought  brazen  railing. 

15.  There  is  a  sad  dreariness  in  this  magnificence;  this  strange 
mixture  of  tombs  and  trophies ;  these  emblems  of  living  and  as- 
piring ambition,  close  beside  mementos  which  show  the  dust  and  215 
oblivion  in  which  all  must,  sooner  or  later,  terminate.     Nothing 
impresses  the  mind  with  a  deeper  feeling  of  loneliness  than  to 
tread  the  silent  and  deserted  scene  of  former  throng  and  pageant. 
On  looking  round  on  the  vacant  stalls  of  the  knights  and  their 
esquires,*  and  on  the  rows  of  dusty  but  gorgeous  banners  that  220 
were  once  borne  before  them,  my  imagination  conjured  up  the 
scene  when  this  hall  was  bright  with  the  valor  and  beauty  of  the 
land,  glittering  with  the  splendor  of  jewelled  rank  and  military 
array,  alive  with  the  tread  of  many  feet  and  the  hum  of  an  ad- 
miring multitude.     All  had  passed  away ;  the  silence  of  death  225 
had  settled  again  upon  the  place,  interrupted  only  by  the  casual 
chirping  of  birds  which  had  found  their  way  into  the  chapel,  and 
built  their  nests  among  its  friezes  and  pendants* — sure  signs  of 
solitariness  and  desertion. 

16.  When  I  read  the  names  inscribed  on  the  banners,  they  230 
were  those  of  men  scattered  far  and  wide  about  the  world ;  some 
tossing  upon  distant  seas,  some  under  arms  in  distant  lands,  some 
mingling  in  the  busy  intrigues  of  courts  and  cabinets ;  all  seek- 
ing to  deserve  one  more  distinction  in  this  mansion  of  shadowy 
honors — the  melancholy  reward  of  a  monument.  235 

17.  Two  small  aisles  on  each  side  of  this  chapel  present  a 


207.  emblazoned,  adorned  with  figures 
of  heraldry. 

209,  210.  mausoleum,  splendid  tomb. — 
sepulchre  of  its  founder :  that  is, 
the  altar-tomb  of  Henry  VII. 
with  effigies  of  himself  and 
queen.  The  work  is  by  Tor- 
rigiano,  an  Italian  sculptor,  and 
Lord  Bacon  calls  it  "one  of  the 


stateliest  and  daintiest  tombs 
of  Europe." 

228.  friezes.  The  "  frieze,"  in  archi- 
tecture, is  "  that  part  of  the  en- 
tablature [i.  e.,  the  part  over  the 
columns,  and  including  the  ar- 
chitrave, frieze,  and  cornice]  of 
a  column  which  is  between  the 
architrave  and  cornice." 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  ^6 1 

touching  instance  of  the  equality  of  the  grave,  which  brings  down 
the  oppressor  to  a  level  with  the  oppressed,  and  mingles  the  dust 
of  the  bitterest  enemies  together.  In  one  is  the  sepulchre  of  the 
haughty  Elizabeth ;  in  the  other  is  that  of  her  victim,  the  lovely  240 
and  unfortunate  Mary.  Not  an  hour  in  the  day  but  some  ejacula- 
tion of  pity  is  uttered  over  the  fate  of  the  latter,  mingled  with  in- 
dignation at  her  oppressor.  The  walls  of  Elizabeth's  sepulchre 
continually  echo  with  the  sighs  of  sympathy  heaved  at  the  grave 
of  her  rival.  243 

1 8.  A  peculiar  melancholy  reigns  over  the  aisle  where  Mary 
lies  buried.    The  light  struggles  dimly  through  windows  darkened 
by  dust.     The  greater  part  of  the  place  is  in  deep  shadow,  and 
the  walls  are  stained  and  tinted  by  time  and  weather.    A  marble 
figure  of  Mary  is  stretched  upon  the  tomb,  round  which  is  an  250 
iron  railing,  much  corroded,  bearing  her  national  emblem — the 
thistle.     I  was  weary  with  wandering,  and  sat  down  to  rest  my- 
self by  the  monument,  revolving  in  my  mind  the  checkered  and 
disastrous  story  of  poor  Mary. 

19.  The  sound  of  casual  footsteps  had  ceased  from  the  abbey.  255 
I  could  only  hear,  now  and  then,  the  distant  voice  of  the  priest 
repeating  the  evening  service,  and  the  faint  responses  of  the 
choir ;  these  paused  for  a  time,  and  all  was  hushed.     The  still- 
ness, the  desertion  and  obscurity,  that  were  gradually  prevailing 
around  gave  a  deeper  and  more  solemn  interest  to  the  place :      260 

"  For  in  the  silent  grave  no  conversation, 
No  joyful  tread  of  friends,  no  voice  of  lovers, 
No  careful  father's  counsel — nothing  's  heard, 
For  nothing  is,  but  all  oblivion, 
Dust,  and  an  endless  darkness."  265 

Suddenly  the  notes  of  the  deep-laboring  organ  burst  upon  the 
ear,  falling  with  doubled  and  redoubled  intensity,  and  rolling,  as 
it  were,  huge  billows  of  sound.  How  well  do  their  volume  and 
grandeur  accord  with  this  mighty  building !  With  what  pomp  do 


240.  Elizabeth  reigned  from  1558  (eight 

years  before  the  birth  of  Shake- 
speare) till  1603. 

241.  unfortunate   Mary:    that   is,  Mary 

Queen  of  Scots  (born  1542 ;  be- 


headed 1587).  Her  body  was 
buried  here  by  her  son,  James  I. 
(James  VI.  of  Scotland),  after 
he  became  king  of  England,  on 
the  d«ath  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 


362 


IRVING. 


they  swell  through  its  vast  vaults,  and  breathe  their  awful  har-  27° 
mony  through  these  caves  of  death,  and  make  the  silent  sepulchre 
vocal !  And  now  they  rise  in  triumphant  acclamation,  heaving 
higher  and  higher  their  accordant  notes,  and  piling  sound  on 
sound.  And  now  they  pause,  and  the  soft  voices  of  the  choir 
break  out  into  sweet  gushes  of  melody.  They  soar  aloft,  and  war-  275 
ble  along  the  roof,  and  seem  to  play  about  these  lofty  vaults  like 
the  pure  airs  of  heaven.  Again  the  pealing  organ  heaves  its 
thrilling  thunders,  compressing  air  into  music,  and  rolling  it  forth 
upon  the  soul.  What  long-drawn  cadences!  What  solemn, 
sweeping  concords  !  It  grows  more  and  more  dense  and  power-  280 
ful ;  it  fills  the  vast  pile,  and  seems  to  jar  the  very  walls.  The 
ear  is  stunned,  the  senses  are  overwhelmed.  And  now  it  is  wind- 
ing up  in  full  jubilee;  it  is  rising  from  the  earth  to  heaven.  The 
very  soul  seems  rapt  away  and  floated  upwards  on  this  swelling 
tide  of  harmony !  285 

20.  I  sat  for  some  time  lost  in  that  kind  of  reverie*  which  a 
strain  of  music  is  apt  sometimes  to  inspire.    The  shadows  of 
evening  were  gradually  thickening  round  me;  the  monuments 
began  to  cast  deeper  and  deeper  gloom  ;  and  the  distant  clock 
again  gave  token  of  the  slowly  waning  day.  290 

2 1.  I  rose  and  prepared  to  leave  the  abbey.     As  I  descended 
the  flight  of  steps  which  leads  into  the  body  of  the  building,  my 
eye  was  caught  by  the  shrine  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  and  I 
ascended  the  small  staircase  that  conducts  to  it,  to  take  from 
thence  a  general  survey  of  this  wilderness  of  tombs.    The  shrine  295 
is  elevated  upon  a  kind  of  platform,  and  close  around  it  are  the 
sepulchres  of  various  kings  and  queens.     From  this  eminence 
the  eye  looks  down  between  pillars  and  funereal  trophies  to  the 
chapels  and  chambers  below,  crowded  with  tombs,  where  war- 
riors, prelates,  courtiers,  and  statesmen  lie  mouldering  in  their  300 
"  beds  of  darkness."    Close  by  me  stood  the  great  chair  of  coro- 
nation, rudely  carved  of  oak,  in  the  barbarous  taste  of  a  remote 
and  Gothic  age.     The  scene  seemed  almost  as  if  contrived  with 


293.  the  shrine  of  Edward  the  Confessor. 

Edward  the  Confessor  (reigned 
1041-1065). 


301,  302.  chair  of  coronation.  (See  Ad-, 
dison's  paper,  page  138,  note 
2.) 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.  363 

theatrical  artifice  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the  beholder.    Here 
was  a  type  of  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  human  pomp  and  3°s 
power ;  here  it  was  literally  but  a  step  from  the  throne  to  the 
sepulchre.     Would  not  one  think  that  these  incongruous*  me- 
mentos had  been  gathered  together  as  a  lesson  to  living  great- 
ness— to  show  it,  even  in  the  moment  of  its  proudest  exaltation, 
the  neglect  and  dishonor  to  which  it  must  soon  arrive ;  how  soon  310 
that  crown  which  encircles  its  brow  must  pass  away,  and  it  must 
lie  down  in  the  dust  and  disgraces  of  the  tomb,  and  be  trampled 
upon  by  the  feet  of  the  meanest  of  the  multitude  ?     For,  strange 
to  tell,  even  the  grave  is  here  no  longer  a  sanctuary.*     There  is 
a  shocking  levity*  in  some  natures,  which  leads  them  to  sport  3«s 
with  awful  and  hallowed  things  ;  and  there  are  base  minds  which 
delight  to  revenge  on  the  illustrious  dead  the  abject  homage  and 
grovelling  servility  which  they  pay  to  the  living.     The  coffin  of 
Edward  the  Confessor  has  been  broken  open,  and  his  remains 
despoiled  of  their  funereal  ornaments ;   the  sceptre  has  been  320 
stolen  from  the  hand  of  the  imperious  Elizabeth,  and  the  effigy 
of  Henry  the  Fifth  lies  headless.     Not  a  royal  monument  but 
bears  some  proof  how  false  and  fugitive  is  the  homage  of  man- 
kind.    Some   are   plundered,  some   mutilated  ;    some   covered 
with  ribaldry*  and  insult — all  more  or  less  outraged  and  dis-325 
honored ! 

22.  The  last  beams  of  day  were  now  faintly  streaming  through 
the  painted  windows  in  the  high  vaults  above  me ;  the  lower 
parts  of  the  abbey  were  already  wrapped  in  the  obscurity  of 
twilight.    The  chapel  and  aisles  grew  darker  and  darker.    The  330 
effigies  of  the  kings  faded  into  shadows ;  the  marble  figures  of 
the  monuments  assumed  strange  shapes  in  the  uncertain  light; 
the  evening  breeze  crept  through  the  aisles  like  the  cold  breath 
of  the  grave ;  and  even  the  distant  footfall  of  a  verger,  traversing 
the  Poets'  Corner,  had  something  strange  and  dreary  in  its  sound.  335 
I  slowly  retraced  my  morning's  walk,  and  as  I  passed  out  at  the 
portal  of  the  cloisters,  the  door,  closing  with  a  jarring  noise  be- 
hind me,  filled  the  whole  building  with  echoes. 

23.  I  endeavored  to  form  some  arrangement  in  my  mind  of  the 


321,  322.  effigy. ..  headless.       See   Addison's  paper,  page   142,  line  95,  and 
note. 


364  IRVING. 

objects  I  had  been  contemplating,  but  found  they  were  already  340 
fallen  into  indistinctness  and  confusion.     Names,  inscriptions, 
trophies,  had  all  become  confounded  in  my  recollection,  though 
I  had  scarcely  taken  my  foot  from  off  the  threshold.     What, 
thought  I,  is  this  vast  assemblage  of  sepulchres  but  a  treasury 
of  humiliation,  a  huge  pile  of  reiterated  homilies*  on  the  empties 
ness  of  renown  and  the  certainty  of  oblivion  !     It  is,  indeed,  the 
empire  of  Death — his  great  shadowy  palace,  wheie  he  sits  in 
state,  mocking  at  the  relics  of  human  glory,  and  spreading  dust 
and  forgetfulness  on  the  monuments  of  princes.     How  idle  a 
boast,  after  all,  is  the  immortality  of  a  name  !     Time  is  ever  si-  351 
lently  turning  over  his  pages  ;  we  are  too  much  engrossed  by  the 
story  of  the  present  to  think  of  the  characters  and  anecdotes 
that  gave  interest  to  the  past ;  and  each  age  is  a  volume  thrown 
aside  to  be  speedily  forgotten.     The  idol  of  to-day  pushes  the 
hero  of  yesterday  out  of  our  recollection ;  and  will,  in  turn,  be  ass 
supplanted  by  his  successor  of  to-morrow.     "  Our  fathers,"  says 
Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "find  their  graves  in  our  short  memories, 
and  sadly  tell  us  how  we   may  be  buried  in   our   survivors." 
History  fades  into  fable ;  fact  becomes  clouded  with  doubt  and 
controversy;  the  inscription  moulders  from  the  tablet;  the  statue  360 
falls  from  the  pedestal.     Columns,  arches,  pyramids — what  are 
they  but  heaps  of  sand,  and  their  epitaphs  but  characters  written 
in  the  dust  ?     What  is  the  security  of  a  tomb,  or  the  perpetuity 
of  an  embalmment  ?     The  remains  of  Alexander  the  Great  have 
been  scattered  to  the  winds,  and  his  empty  sarcophagus  is  now  363 
the  mere  curiosity  of  a  museum.     "The  Egyptian  mummies, 


357.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  (born  1605  ; 
knighted  by  Charles  II.  1672 ; 
died  1682),  a  physician  and 
eminent  writer  (principal  works 
Religio  Medici,  Vulgar  or  Com- 
mon Errors,  and  the  treatise  on 
Urn  Burial). 

364.  Alexander  the  Great.  See  Dryden's 
Alexander's  Feast,  page  103,  and 
note. 


366, 367.  Egyptian . . .  consumeth.  Mum- 
mies (dead  bodies  embalmed) 
were,  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
much  used  in  medicine,  on  ac- 
count of  the  aromatic  substances 
they  contained.  "The  virtues 
of  mummy  seem  to  have  been 
chiefly  imaginary,  and  even  the 
traffic  fraudulent."  —  NARES  : 
Glossary. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


365 


which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now  consumeth; 
Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for  balsams." 

24,  What,  then,  is  to  insure  this  pile  which  now  towers  above 
me  from  sharing  the  fate  of  mightier  mausoleums  ?  The  time  37^ 
must  come  when  its  gilded  vaults,  which  now  spring  so  loftily, 
shall  lie  in  rubbish  beneath  the  feet;  when,  instead  of  the  sound 
of  melody  and  praise,  the  wind  shall  whistle  through  the  broken 
arches,  and  the  owl  hoot  from  the  shattered  tower — when  the 
garish  sunbeam  shall  break  into  these  gloomy  mansions  of  death,  37! 
and  the  ivy  twine  round  the  fallen  column,  and  the  foxglove  hang 
its  blossoms  about  the  nameless  urn,  as  if  in  mockery  of  the  dead. 
Thus  man  passes  away ;  his  name  perishes  from  record  and  recol- 
lection ;  his  history  is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  his  very  monu- 
ment becomes  a  ruin  !  3»c 


367.  Camby'ses,  son  of  Darius,  and 
King  of  Persia  (reigned  B.C. 
529-522).  He  conquered  Egypt; 
hence  the  force  of  "spared," 
etc. 


368.  Mizraim  (the  native  name  of  Egypt) 
—  any  King  of  Egypt — a  signi- 
fication intended  also  by  Pha- 
raoh (a  general  name,  like 
"Casar"). 


XXIV. 

THOMAS    DE   QUINCEY. 

1785-1859. 


7 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  LESLIE  STEPHEN.1 

i .  One  may  fancy  that  if  De  Quincey's  language  were  emptied  of 
all  meaning  whatever,  the  mere  sound  of  the  words  would  move 
us,  as  the  lovely  word  Mesopotamia  moved  Whitefield's  hearers. 

1  From  Hours  in  a  Library,  by  LesHe  Stephen. 


STEPHEN'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  DE  QUINCE Y.  367 

The  sentences  are  so  delicately  balanced,  and  so  skilfully  con- 
structed, that  his  finer  passages  fix  themselves  in  the  memory 
without  the  aid  of  metre.  Humbler  writers  are  content  if  they 
can  get  through  a  single  phrase  without  producing  a  decided  jar. 
They  aim  at  keeping  up  a  steady  jog-trot,  which  shall  not  give 
actual  pain  to  the  jaws  of  the  readers.  Even  our  great  writers 
generally  settle  down  to  a  stately  but  monotonous  gait,  after  the 
fashion  of  Johnson  or  Gibbon,  or  are  content  with  adopting  a 
style  as  transparent  and  inconspicuous  as  possible.  Language, 
according  to  the  common  phrase,  is  the  dress  of  thought;  and 
that  dress  is  the  best,  according  to  modern  canons  of  taste,  which 
attracts  least  attention  from  its  wearer. 

2.  De  Quincey  scorns  this  sneaking  maxim  of  prudence,  and 
boldly  challenges  our  admiration  by  appearing  in  the  richest 
coloring  that  can  be  got  out  of  the  dictionary.     His  language 
deserves  a  commendation  sometimes  bestowed  by  ladies  upon 
rich  garments,  that  it  is  capable  of  standing  up  by  itself.     The 
form  is  so  admirable  that,  for  purposes  of  criticism,  we  must  con- 
sider it  as  something  apart  from  the  substance.     The  most  ex- 
quisite passages  in  De  Quincey's  writings  are  all  more  or  less 
attempts  to  carry  out  the  idea  expressed  in  the  title  of  the  dream 
fugue.     They  are  intended  to  be  musical  compositions,  in  which 
words  have  to  play  the  part  of  notes.    They  are  impassioned,  not 
in  the  sense  of  expressing  any  definite  sentiment,  but  because,* 
from  the  structure  and  combination  of  the  sentences,  they  har- 
monize with  certain  phases  of  emotion.    It  is  in  the  success  with 
which  he  produces  such  effects  as  these  that  De  Quincey  may 
fairly  claim  to  be  almost,  if  not  quite,  unrivalled  in  our  language. 

3.  It  would  be  difficult  or  impossible,  and  certainly  it  would  be 
superfluous,  to  define  with  any  precision  the  peculiar  flavor  of  De 
Quincey's  style.     The  chemistry  of  critics  has  not  yet  succeeded 
in  resolving  any  such  product  into  its  constituent  elements;  nor, 
if  it  could,  should  we  be  much  nearer  to  understanding  their 
effect  in  combination. 

4.  A  few  specimens  would  do  more  than  any  description;  and 
De  Quincey  is  too  well  known  to  justify  quotation.     It  may  be 
enough  to  notice  that  most  of  his  brilliant  performances  are  varia- 
tions on  the  same  theme.     He  appeals  to  our  terror  of  the  infi- 
nite, to  the  shrinking  of  the  human  mind  before  astronomical 


368  DE  QUINCE Y. 

distances  and  geological  periods  of  time.  He  paints  vast 
spectives,  opening  in  long  succession,  till  we  grow  dizzy  in  the 
contemplation.  The  cadences  of  his  style  suggest  sounds  echo- 
ing each  other,  and  growing  gradually  fainter,  till  they  die  away 
into  infinite  distance.  Two  great  characteristics,  as  he  tells  us, 
of  his  opmm  dreams  were  a  deep-seated  melancholy  and  an  ex- 
aggeration of  the  things  of  space  and  time.  Nightly  he  descend- 
ed into  chasms  and  sunless  abysses,  depths  below  depths,  from 
which  it  seemed  hopeless  that  he  could  ever  reascend.  He  saw 
buildings  and  landscapes  in  "proportion  so  vast  as  the  human 
eye  is  not  fitted  to  receive."  He  seemed  to  live  ninety  or  a  hun- 
dred years  in  a  night,  and  even  to  pass  through  periods  far  be- 
yond the  limits  of  human  existence.  Melancholy  and  an  awe- 
stricken  sense  of  the  vast  and  vague  are  the  emotions  which  he 
communicates  with  the  greatest  power;  though  the  melancholy 
is  too  dreamy  to  deserve  the  name  of  passion,  and  the  terror  of 
the  infinite  is  not  explicitly  connected  with  any  religious  emotion. 
It  is  a  proof  of  the  fineness  of  hia  taste,  that  he  scarcely  ever 
falls  into  bombast.  We  tremble  at  his  audacity  in  accumulating 
gorgeous  phrases;  but  we  confess  that  he  is  justified  by  the  re- 
sult. I  know  of  no  other  modern  writer  who  has  soared  into  the 
same  regions  with  so  uniform  and  easy  a  flight. 


I.— ON  THE  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE  IN  MACBETH. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  paper,  which  is  given  entire,  is  from  De 
Quincey's  Miscellaneous  Essays.  It  well  illustrates  some  of  the  most  notable 
characteristics  of  his  literary  art — his  subtlety,  sometimes  attenuated  to  super- 
fineness,  his  minute  explicitness  of  statement,  his  digressions  and  "  returns," 
irrelevant  but  always  interesting,  and  his  admirable  skill  in  the  niceties  of  sen- 
tential structure.  The  higher  qualities  of  his  impassioned  prose  are  exempli- 
fied in  the  second  extract] 

i.  From  my  boyish  days  I  had  always  felt  a  great  perplexity 
on  one  point  in  Macbeth.  It  was  this :  the  knocking  at  the  gate 


LITERAKY  ANALYSIS.— 1-8.  The  first  paragraph  exemplifies  De  Quincey's 
tendency  to  "minute  explicitness  of  statement."  (See  Introduction.}  He  had 
felt  great  perplexity  "on  one  point."  "It  was  tAt's."  "  Produced  an  effect." 
"  The  effect  was,"  etc. 

2.  the  knocking.     See  Macbeth,  act  ii.,  scene  3. 


ON  THE  KNOCKING  AT  THE   GATE  IN  MACBETH.  369 

which  succeeds  to  the  murder  of  Duncan  produced  to  my  feel- 
ings an  effect  for  which  I  never  could  account.  The  effect  was 
that  it  reflected  back  upon  the  murder  a  peculiar  awfulness  and  5 
a  depth  of  solemnity;  yet,  however  I  endeavored  with  my  under- 
standing to  comprehend  this,  for  many  years  I  could  never  see 
why  it  should  produce  such  an  effect. 

2.  Here  I  pause  for  one  moment  to  exhort  the  reader  never  to 
pay  any  attention  to  his  understanding  when  it  stands  in  oppo-  to 
sition  to  any  other  faculty  of  his  mind.     The  mere  understand- 
ing, however  useful,  is  the  meanest  faculty  in  the  human  mind, 
and  the  most  to  be  distrusted;  and  yet  the  great  majority  of  peo- 
ple trust  nothing  else ;  which  may  do  for  ordinary  life,  but  not 
for  philosophical  purposes.    Of  this,  out  of  ten  thousand  instances  15 
that  I  might  produce,  I  will  cite  one.    Ask  any  person  whatsoever, 
who  is  not  previously  prepared  for  the  demand  by  a  knowledge 
of  perspective,  to  draw  in  the  rudest  way  the  commonest  appear- 
ance which  depends  upon  the  law  of  that  science;  as,  for  instance, 
to  represent  the  effect  of  two  walls  standing  at  right  angles  to  20 
each  other,  or  the  appearance  of  the  houses  on  each  side  of  a 
street,  as  seen  by  a  person  looking  down  the  street  from  one  ex- 
tremity.    Now,  in  all  cases,  unless  the  person  has  happened  to 
observe  in  pictures  how  it  is  that  artists  produce  these  effects,  he 
will  be  utterly  incapable  to  make  the  smallest  approximation  to  25 
it.     Yet  why  ?     For  he  has  actually  seen  the  effect  every  day  of 
his  life.     The  reason  is — that  he  allows  his  understanding  to 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 5.  it.     What  noun  does  "it"  represent? 

5,  6.  awfulness  .  .  .  solemnity.     Discriminate  between  these  synonyms. 

6,  7.  understanding.     The  term  is  here  used  in  a  specific  sense  as  contrasted 
with  reason.     For  this  technical  use  of  the  word  "  understanding,"  see  Web- 
ster's Unabridged. 

9-44.  The  whole  of  paragraph  2  is  a  digression,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  nat- 
ure of  the  connective  introducing  paragraph  3.  State  in  a  general  way  the 
substance  of  this  digression. — What  is  the  author's  aim  in  inducing  the  reader 
not  to  trust  to  the  mere  "  understanding  ?" 

12.  meanest.     Force  of  the  epithet  as  here  used? 

15,  16.  Of  this  . . .  one.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? — What  figure 
of  speech  is  exemplified  in  the  expression  "  ten  thousand  ?"  (See  Def.  84.) 

25.  to  make.     Remark  on  this  form  of  expression. 

26.  Tet  why !    For.     Supply  the  ellipsis  after  "  why  "  and  before  "  for." 

27.  reason  is—.      The  dash  is  De  Quincey's  own  :  what  effect  do  you  sup- 
pose he  wishes  to  produce  by  its  use  ? 

24 


370  DE  QUINCEY. 

overrule  his  eyes.  His  understanding,  which  includes  no  intu- 
itive knowledge  of  the  laws  of  vision,  can  furnish  him  with  no 
reason  why  a  line,  which  is  known  and  can  be  proved  to  be  a  w 
horizontal  line,  should  not  appear  a  horizontal  line.  A  line  that 
made  any  angle  with  the  perpendicular  less  than  a  right  angle 
would  seem  to  him  to  indicate  that  his  houses  were  all  tumbling 
down  together.  Accordingly,  he  makes  the  line  of  his  houses  a 
horizontal  line,  and  fails,  of  course,  to  produce  the  effect  de-as 
manded.  Here,  then,  is  one  instance  out  of  many,  in  which  not 
only  the  understanding  is  allowed  to  overrule  the  eyes,  but  where 
the  understanding  is  positively  allowed  to  obliterate  the  eyes,  as 
it  were ;  for  not  only  does  the  man  believe  the  evidence  of  his  un- 
derstanding in  opposition  to  that  of  his  eyes,  but  (what  is  mon-  4° 
strous !)  the  idiot  is  not  aware  that  his  eyes  ever  gave  such  evi- 
dence. He  does  not  know  that  he  has  seen  (and,  therefore,  quoad 
his  consciousness  has  not  seen)  that  which  he  has  seen  every  day 
of  his  life. 

3.  But  to  return  from  this  digression.    My  understanding  could  45 
furnish  no  reason  why  the  knocking  at  the  gate  in  Macbeth  should 
produce  any  effect,  direct  or  reflected.     In  fact,  my  understand- 
ing said  positively  that  it  could  not  produce  any  effect.     But  I 
knew  better.     I  felt  that  it  did;  and  I  waited  and  clung  to  the 
problem  until  further  knowledge  should  enable  me  to  solve  it.  s* 
At  length,  in  1812,  Mr.  Williams  made  his  debut  on  the  stage  of 
Ratcliffe  Highway,  and  executed  those   unparalleled   murders 
which  have  procured  for  him  such  a  brilliant  and  undying  repu- 
tation.    On  which  murders,  by  the  way,  I  must  observe  that  in 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  28-36.  His  understanding  .  . .  demanded.  State  in 
your  own  language  the  nature  of  the  author's  reasoning. 

42,  43.  quoad  his  consciousness,  as  regards  his  consciousness. 

51.  Mr.  Williams  made,  etc.  The  reference  is  to  several  murders  committed  in 
London  by  a  certain  Williams — murders  described  with  great  power  by  De  Quin- 
cey  in  a  series  of  papers  under  the  title  of  Mtirder  Considered  as  a  Fine  Art. 

51-54.  made  his  debut.  .  .  reputation.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech? — To 
appreciate  fully  the  force  of  the  grim  humor  in  the  epithets  used  by  the  author 
in  speaking  of  these  murders,  the  papers  referred  to  in  the  preceding  note 
should  be  read. 

54-62.  On  which  murders  .  . .  Williams.  Remark  on  the  expressions  "  con- 
noisseur in  murder ;"  "  amateur  "  (in  murder) ;  "  great  artists  "  (in  murder). 
-Indicate  how,  in  this  passage,  the  strain  of  irony  is  kept  up. 


ON  THE  KNOCKING  AT  THE   GATE  IN  MACBETH.    37! 

one  respect  they  have  had  an  ill  effect  by  making  the  connois-  ss 
seur  in  murder  very  fastidious  in  his  taste,  and  dissatisfied  by 
anything  that  has  been  since  done  in  that  line.  All  other  mur- 
ders look  pale  by  the  deep  crimson  of  his;  and,  as  an  amateur 
once  said  to  me,  in  a  querulous  tone,  "  There  has  been  absolutely 
nothing  doing  since  his  time,  or  nothing  that's  worth  speaking  60 
of."  But  this  is  wrong;  for  it  is  unreasonable  to  expect  all  men 
to  be  great  artists,  and  born  with  the  genius  of  Mr.  Williams. 
Now  it  will  be  remembered  that  in  the  first  of  these  murders 
(that  of  the  Marrs)  the  same  incident  (of  knocking  at  the  door 
soon  after  the  work  of  extermination  was  complete)  did  actually  65 
occur. which  the  genius  of  Shakespeare  has  invented;  and  all 
good  judges,  and  the  most  eminent  dilettanti,  acknowledged  the 
felicity  of  Shakespeare's  suggestion  as  soon  as  it  was  actually 
realized.  Here,  then,  was  a  fresh  proof  that  I  was  right  in  rely- 
ing on  my  own  feelings  in  opposition  to  my  understanding ;  and  70 
I  again  set  myself  to  study  the  problem.  At  length  I  solved  it 
to  my  own  satisfaction  ;  and  the  solution  is  this  :  Murder,  in  or- 
dinary cases,  where  the  sympathy  is  wholly  directed  to  the  case 
of  the  murdered  person,  is  an  incident  of  coarse  and  vulgar  hor- 
ror; and  for  this  reason,  that  it  flings  the  interest  exclusively  ?s 
upon  the  natural  but  ignoble  instinct  by  which  we  cleave  to  life ; 
an  instinct,  which,  as  being  indispensable  to  the  primal  law  of 
self-preservation,  is  the  same  in  kind  (though  different  in  degree) 
amongst  all  living  creatures.  This  instinct,  therefore,  because  it 
annihilates  all  distinctions,  and  degrades  the  greatest  of  men  to  SQ 
the  level  of  "the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  on,"  exhibits  human 
nature  in  its  most  abject  and  humiliating  attitude.  Such  an  at- 
titude would  little  suit  the  purposes  of  the  poet.  What,  then, 
must  he  do  ?  He  must  throw  the  interest  on  the  murderer.  Our 
sympathy  must  be  with  him  (of  course  I  mean  a  sympathy  of  85 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 67.  good  judges  ...  dilettanti.  Explain  why  these 
expressions  are  used. 

71.  At  length,  etc.  Point  out  here  an  illustration  of  De  Quincey's  explicit- 
ness  of  statement. 

81.  the  poor ...  on.  The  quotation  is  from  Shakespeare  :  is  it  quite  accu- 
rately made  ? 

85-88.  sympathy  . . .  approbation.  Give  the  nice  distinction  which  the  author 
makes  as  to  the  kind  of  "  sympathy  "  he  is  referring  to. 


372  DE   QUINCEY. 

comprehension,  a  sympathy  by  which  we  enter  into  his  feelings, 
and  are  made  to  understand  them — not  a  sympathy  of  pity  or 
approbation).  In  the  murdered  person  all  strife  of  thought,  all 
fiux  and  reflux  of  passion  and  of  purpose,  are  crushed  by  an  over- 
whelming panic;  the  fear  of  instant  death  strikes  him  "with  its  *• 
petrific*  mace."  But  in  the  murderer,  such  a  murderer  as  a  poet 
will  condescend  to,  there  must  be  raging  some  great  storm  of  pas- 
sion— jealousy,  ambition,  vengeance,  hatred — which  will  create  a 
hell  within  him;  and  into  this  hell  we  are  to  look. 

4.  In  Macbeth,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  own  enormous  95 
and  teeming  faculty  of  creation,  Shakespeare  has   introduced 
two  murderers;  and,  as  usual  in  his  hands,  they  are  remarkably 
discriminated;   but,  though   in   Macbeth  the   strife  of  mind  is 
greater  than  in  his  wife,  the  tiger  spirit  not  so  awake,  and  his 
feeling  caught  chiefly  by  contagion  from  her — yet,  as  both  are  100 
finally  involved  in  the  guilt  of  murder,  the  murderous  mind  of 
necessity  is  finally  to  be  presumed  in  both.     This  was  to  be  ex- 
pressed ;  and  on  its  own  account,  as  well  as  to  make  it  a  more 
proportionable  antagonist  to  the  unoffending  nature  of  their  vic- 
tim, "  the  gracious  Duncan,"  and   adequately  to  expound  "  the  105 
deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off,"  this  was  to  be  expressed  with 
peculiar  energy.     We  were  to  be  made  to  feel  that  the  human 
nature — /.  e.,  the  divine  nature  of  love  and  mercy,  spread  through 
the  hearts  of  all  creatures,  and  seldom  utterly  withdrawn  from 
man — was  gone,  vanished,  extinct;  and  that  the  fiendish  nature  nc 
had  taken  its  place.     And,  as  this  effect  is  marvellously  accom- 
plished in  the  dialogues  and  soliloquies  themselves,  so  it  is  finally 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 91.  petriflc.     Etymology  of  the  word.' 
93>  94-  will  create  a  hell,  etct     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

94.  and  into  this  hell  we  are  to  look.    Remark  on  the  order  of  words.    What 
effect  is  gained  ? 

95.  In  Macbeth,  etc.     Is  the  structure  of  the  sentence  periodic  or  loose  ? 
95,  96.  gratifying  . .  .  creation.     Observe  the  power  of  the  expression. 
97.  two  murderers :  that  is,  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth. 

99.  the  tiger  spirit.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  this  epithet  ? 

100.  Point  out  a  powerful  phrase  in  this  line. 

103,  104.  to  make  . .  .  antagonist.     Express  in  other  words. 

no.  gone,  vanished,  extinct.  What  is  the  effect  of  this  employment  of  three 
synonymous  verbs  ? — Notice  that  the  combination  is  the  more  energetic  from 
the  absence  of  conjunctions  (asyndeton). 


ON   THE  KNOCKING  AT  THE   GATE  IN  MACBETH. 


373 


consummated  by  the  expedient  under  consideration ;  and  it  is 
to  this  that  I  now  solicit  the  reader's  attention. 

5.  If  the  reader  has  ever  witnessed  a  wife,  a  daughter,  or  sis-«s 
ter  in  a  fainting  fit,  he  may  chance  to  have  observed  that  the 
most  affecting  moment  in  such  a  spectacle  is  that  in  which  a 
sigh  and  a  stirring  announce  the  recommencement  of  suspended 
life.     Or  if  the  reader  has  ever  been  present  in  a  vast  metropo- 
lis on  the  day  when  some  great  national  idol  was  carried  in  i:« 
funeral  pomp  to  his  grave,  and  chancing  to  walk  near  the  course 
through  which  it  passed,  has  felt  powerfully,  in  the  desertion  and 
silence  of  the  streets,  and  in  the  stagnation  of  ordinary  business, 
the  deep  interest  which  at  that  moment  was   possessing  the 
heart  of  man — if  all  at  once  he  should  hear  the  deathlike  still- 125 
ness  broken  up  by  the  sounds  of  wheels  rattling  away  from  the 
scene,  and  making  known  that  the  transitory  vision  was  dis- 
solved, he  will  be  aware  that  at  no  moment  was  his  sense  of  the 
complete  suspension  and  pause  in  ordinary  human  concerns  so 
full  and  affecting  as  at  that  moment  when  the  suspension  ceases;  130 
and  the  goings-on  of  human  life  are  suddenly  resumed.     All  ac- 
tion in  any  direction  is  best  expounded,  measured,  and  made  ap- 
prehensible by  reaction, 

6.  Now  apply  this  to  the  case  in  Macbeth.     Here,  as  I  have 
said,  the  retiring  of  the  human  heart  and  the  entrance  of  the  133 
fiendish  heart  was  to  be  expressed  and  made  sensible.     An- 
other world  has  stepped  in  ;  and  the  murderers  are  taken  out  of 
the  region  of  human  things,  human  purposes,  human  desires. 
They  are  transfigured :  Lady  Macbeth  is  "  unsexed  ;"  Macbeth 
has  forgot  that  he  was  born  of  woman ;  both  are  conformed  to  i«i 
the  image  of  devils ;  and  the  world  of  devils  is  suddenly  re- 
vealed.    But  how  shall  this  be  conveyed  and  made  palpable  ?  * 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 115-119.  If .  .  .  life.  What  kind  of  sentence  gram- 
matically ?  Rhetorically  ? 

119-131.  Or  if.  .  .  resumed.  Is  this  a  period  or  a  loose  sentence? — Point 
out  striking  expressions  in  this  sentence. 

134-159.  Paragraph  6  presents  an  excellent  study  in  variety  of  sentences — 
variety  of  length  and  of  type,  grammatical  and  rhetorical.  Pupils  may  indi- 
cate the  various  kinds  of  sentence  in  this  paragraph. 

136.  sensible.     Meaning  ? 

140.  lias  forgot.     Query  as  to  this  form. 


374  DE   QUINCEY. 

In  order  that  a  new  world  may  step  in,  this  world  must  for  a 
time  disappear.  The  murderers,  and  the  murder,  must  be  insu- 
iated — cut  off  by  an  immeasurable  gulf  from  the  ordinary  tide  MS 
and  succession  of  human  affairs — locked  up  and  sequestered  in 
some  deep  recess ;  we  must  be  made  sensible  that  the  world  of 
ordinary  life  is  suddenly  arrested—laid  asleep — tranced — racked 
into  a  dread  armistice ;  time  must  be  annihilated ;  relation  to 
things  without  abolished;*  and  all  must  pass  self-withdrawn  into  150 
a  deep  syncope  and  suspension  of  earthly  passion.  Hence  it  is 
that,  when  the  deed  is  done,  when  the  work  of  darkness  is  per- 
fect, then  the  world  of  darkness  passes  away  like  a  pageantry  in 
the  clouds :  the  knocking  at  the  gate  is  heard :  and  it  makes 
known  audibly  that  the  reaction  has  commenced :  the  human  has  iss 
made  its  reflux  upon  the  fiendish ;  the  pulses  of  life  are  beginning 
to  beat  again ;  and  the  re-establishment  of  the  goings-on  of  the 
world  in  which  we  live  first  makes  us  profoundly  sensible  of  the 
awful  parenthesis  that  had  suspended  them. 

7.  O,  mighty  poet !     Thy  works  are  not  as  those  of  other  men,  160 
simply  and  merely  great  works  of  art ;  but  are  also  like  the 
phenomena  of  nature,  like  the,  sun  and  the  sea,  the  stars  and 
the  flowers — like  frost  and  snow,  rain  and  dew,  hail-storm  and 
thunder,  which  are  to  be  studied  with  entire  submission  of  our 
own  faculties,  and  in  the  perfect  faith  that  in  them  there  can  be  165 
no  too  much  or  too  little,  nothing  useless  or  inert* — but  that,  the 
farther  we  progress  in  our  discoveries,  the  more  we  shall  see 
proofs  of  design  and  self-supporting   arrangement  where   the 
careless  eye  had  seen  nothing  but  accident ! 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 144,  145.  must  be  insulated.     By  what  two  variant 
forms  of  expression  does  De  Quincey  amplify  the  idea  here  expressed? 
148.  is  suddenly  arrested.     What  variations  are  made  on  this  statement  ? 

151.  syncope  and  suspension.     Discriminate  between  these  synonyms. 

152.  when  the  deed  is  done.     How   is   this   expression   varied?  —  Are   such 
repetitions  chargeable  with  tautology,  or  are  they  justified  as  examples  of  ar- 
tistic fulness  and  elaboration  ? 

160-169.  What  figure  is  exemplified  in  the  last  paragraph?     (See  Def.  28») 
—Give  in  your  own  words  the  substance  of  the  paragraph. 


A  DREAM  FUGUE. 


II.— A  DREAM  FUGUE. 

1.  Then  suddenly  would  come  a  dream  of  far  different  char- 
acter— a  tumultuous  dream,  commencing  with  a  music  such  as 
now  I  often  heard  in  sleep,  music  of  preparation  and  of  awak- 
ening suspense.     The  undulations  of  fast-gathering  tumults  were 
like  the  Coronation  Anthem ;  and,  like  that,  gave  the  feeling  of  5 
a  multitudinous  movement,  of  infinite  cavalcades  filing  off,  and 
the  tread  of  innumerable  armies.     The  morning  was  come  of  a 
mighty  day — a  day  of  crisis  and  of  ultimate  hope  for  human  nat- 
ure, then  suffering   mysterious  eclipse,  and  laboring  in  some 
dread  extremity.      Somewhere,  but  I   knew  not  where — some- 10 
how,  but  I  knew  not  how — by  some  beings,  but  I  knew  not  by 
whom — a  battle,  a  strife,  an  agony,  was  travelling  through  all  its 
stages — was  evolving  itself,  like  the  catastrophe  of  some  mighty 
drama,  with  which  my  sympathy  was  the  more  insupportable 
from  deepening  confusion  as  to  its  local  scene,  its  cause,  its  nat- 15 
ure,  and   its  undecipherable  issue.     I   (as  is  usual  in  dreams 
where,  of  necessity,  we  make  ourselves  central  to  every  move- 
ment) had  the  power,  and  yet  had  not  the  power,  to  decide  it.     I 
had  the  power,  if  I  could  raise  myself  to  will  it ;  and  yet  again 
had  not  the  power,  for  the  weight  of  twenty  Atlantics  was  upon  20 
me,  or  the  oppression  of  inexpiable  guilt.     "  Deeper  than  ever 
plummet  sounded,"  I  lay  inactive.      Then,  like  a  chorus,  the 
passion  deepened.     Some  greater  interest  was  at  stake,  some 
mightier  cause,  than  ever  yet  the  sword  had  pleaded,  or  trumpet 
had  proclaimed.     Then  came  sudden  alarms ;  hurryings  to  and  25 
fro,  trepidations  of  innumerable  fugitives ;  I  knew  not  whether 
from  the  good  cause  or  the  bad ;  darkness  and  lights ;  tempest 
and  human  faces ;  and  at  last,  with  the  sense  that  all  was  lost, 
female  forms,  and  the  features  that  were  worth  all  the  world  to 
me  ;  and  but  a  moment  allowed — and  clasped  hands,  with  heart-  30 
breaking  partings,  and  then — everlasting  farewells  !  and,  with  a 
sigh  such  as  the  caves  of  hell  sighed  when  the  incestuous  moth- 
er uttered  the  abhorred  name  of  Death,  the  sound  was  reverber- 
ated— everlasting  farewells !  and  again,  and  yet  again  reverber- 
ated— everlasting  farewells  !  35 

2.  And  I  awoke  in  struggles,  and  cried  aloud,  "  I  will  sleep  no 
more !" 


XXV. 

GEORGE   GORDON    BYRON. 

1788-1824. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  TAINE.1 

i.  Byron  was  a  poet,  but  in  his  own  fashion — a  strange  fashion, 
like  that  in  which  he  lived.  There  were  internal  tempests  within 
him,  avalanches  of  ideas,  which  found  issue  only  in  writing.  He 

1  From  the  History  of  English  Literature^  by  H.  A.  Taine. 


TAINE'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  BYRON.,          377 

dreams  of  himself  and  sees  himself  throughout.     It  is  a  boiling 
torrent,  but  hedged  in  with  rocks. 

2.  No  such  great  poet  has  had  so  narrow  an  imagination;  he 
could  not  metamorphose  himself  into  another.    They  are  his  own 
sorrows,  his  own  revolts,  his  own  travels,  which,  hardly  trans- 
formed and  modified,  he  introduces  into  his  verses.     He  does 
not  invent,  he  observes ;  he  does  not  create,  he  transcribes.     His 
copy  is  darkly  exaggerated,  but  it  is  a  copy.    "  I  could  not  write 
upon  anything,"  says  he,  "without  some  personal  experience  and 
foundation."     You  will  find  in  his  letters  and  note-book,  almost 
feature  for  feature,  the  most  striking  of  his  descriptions.     The 
capture  of  Ismail,  the  shipwreck  of  Don  Juan,  are,  almost  word 
for  word,  like  two  accounts  of  it  in  prose.    If  none  but  cockneys 
could  attribute  to  him  the  crimes  of  his  heroes,  none  but  blind 
men  could  fail  to  see  in  him  the  sentiments  of  his  characters. 
This  is  so  true,  that  he  has  not  created  more  than  one.     Childt 
Harold,  Lara,  The  Giaour,  The  Corsair,  Manfred,  Sardanapalus, 
Cain,  Tasso,  Dante,  and  the  rest,  are  always  the  same — one  man 
represented  under  various  costumes,  in  several  lands,  with  differ- 
ent expressions  ;  but  just  as  painters  do  when,  by  change  of  gar- 
ments, decorations,  and  attitudes,  they  draw  fifty  portraits  from 
the  same  model. 

3.  He  meditated  too  much  upon  himself  to  be  enamoured  of 
anything  else.     The  habitual  sternness  of  his  will  prevented  his 
mind  from  being  flexible ;  his  force,  always  concentrated  for  ef- 
fort and  strained  for  strife,  shut  him  up  in  self-contemplation, 
and  reduced  him  never  to  make  a  poem  save  of  his  own  heart. 
He  lavishes  upon  us  his  opinions,  recollections,  angers,  tastes  ; 
his  poem  is  a  conversation,  a  confidence,  with  the  ups  and  downs, 
the  rudeness  and  the  freedom  of  a  conversation  and  a  confidence, 
almost  like  the  holographic  journal  at  which,  by  night,  at  his  writ- 
ing-table, he  opened  his  heart  and  discharged  his  feelings.    Never 
was  seen  in  such  a  clear  glass  the  birth  of  a  lively  thought,  the 
tumult  of  a  great  genius,  the  inner  life  of  a  genuine  poet,  always 
impassioned,  inexhaustibly  fertile  and  creative,  in  whom  sudden- 
ly, successively,  finished  and  adorned,  bloomed  all  human  emo- 
tions and  ideas  —  sad,  gay,  lofty,  low,  hustling  one  another,  mu- 
tually impeded,  like  swarms  of  insects  that  go  humming  and 
feeding  on  flowers  and  in  the  mud.     He  may  say  what  he  will— 


378  BYRON. 

willingly  or  unwillingly,  we  listen  to  him  ;  let  him  leap  from  sut> 
lime  to  burlesque,  we  leap  with  him.  He  has  so  much  wit,  so 
fresh  a  wit,  so  sudden,  so  biting,  such  a  prodigality  of  knowledge, 
ideas,  images,  picked  up  from  the  four  corners  of  the  horizon,  in 
heaps  and  masses,  that  we  are  captivated,  transported  beyond 
limits ;  we  cannot  dream  of  resisting. 

4.  Too  vigorous,  and  hence  unbridled — that  is  the  word  which 
ever  recurs  when  speaking  of  Byron;  too  vigorous  against  others 
and  himself,  and  so  unbridled  that  after  spending  his  life  in 
braving  the  world,  and  his  poetry  in  depicting  revolt,  he  can  only 
find  the  fulfilment  of  his  talent  and  the  satisfaction  of  his  heart 
in  a  poem  in  arms  against  all  human  and  poetic  conventions. 
To  live  so,  a  man  must  be  great ;  but  he  must  also  become  de- 
ranged. There  is  a  derangement  of  heart  and  mind  in  the  style 
of  Don  Juan,  as  in  Swift.  When  a  man  jests  amid  his  tears,  it 
is  because  he  has  a  poisoned  imagination.  This  kind  of  laugh- 
ter  is  a  spasm,  and  you  see  in  one  man  a  hardening  of  the  heart, 
or  madness ;  in  another,  excitement  or  disgust.  Byron  was  ex- 
hausted, at  least  the  poet  was  exhausted  in  him.  The  last  cantos 
of  Don  Juan  drag.  The  gayety  became  forced,  the  escapades 
became  digressions ;  the  reader  began  to  be  bored.  A  new  kind 
of  poetry,  which  he  had  attempted,  had  given  way  in  his  hands. 
In  the  drama  he  only  obtained  a  powerful  declamation ;  his  char- 
acters had  no  life.  When  he  forsook  poetry,  poetry  forsook  him. 
He  went  to  Greece  in  search  of  action,  and  only  found  death. 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLOM 


379 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON. 

[INTRODUCTION.  —  This  poem  was  written  in  1816,  shortly  after  Byron 
left  England  for  the  last  time,  and  while  he  was  living  with  the  Shelleys  in 
Switzerland. 

There  really  was  a  "  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  the  illustrious  Bonnivard,  who, 
for  political  reasons,  was  confined  in  the  Castle  of  Chillon  for  six  years  (1530- 
1536);  but,  strange  enough,  Byron,  when  he  wrote  the  piece,  knew  little  or 
nothing  of  any  actual  captive.  It  was  the  mere  sight  of  the  dungeon  that 
suggested  the  tragedy  to  his  powerful  imagination.  When  he  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  story  of  the  real  prisoner,  he  celebrated  him  in  the  follow- 
ing fine  sonnet : 

Eternal  spirit  of  the  chainless  mind! 

Brightest  in  dungeons,  Liberty,  thou  art, 

For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart — 

The  heart  which  love  of  thee  alone  can  bind ; 

And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consigned— 

To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless  gloom— 

Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyrdom, 

And  Freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every  wind. 

Chillon !  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar,  for  'twas  trod 

Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace, 

Worn  as  if  tiiy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod, 

By  Bonnivard! — May  none  those  marks  efface! 

For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 

The  Prisoner  of  Chillon  is  not  a  marked  example  of  that  style  of  which  Byron 
was  such  an  especial  master,  and  which  is,  therefore,  termed  Byronic ;  but  it 
well  illustrates  the  poet's  vigor  and  concentration.] 

I. 

My  hair  is  gray,  but  not  with  years, 

Nor  grew  it  white 

In  a  single  night, 
As  men's  have  grown  from  sudden  fears ; 


NOTES. — Line  4.  As  men's,  etc.  Byron 
appends  this  note  :  "  Ludovico 
Sforza  and  others.  The  same  is 
asserted  of  Marie  Antoinette's, 
the  wife  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth, 


though  not  in  quite  so  short  a 
period.  Grief  is  said  to  have 
the  same  effect ;  to  such,  and 
not  to  fear,  this  change  in  hers 
was  to  be  attributed." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-4.  Who  is  represented  as  telling  the  story,  the 
actor  or  the  author  ?  Try  if  it  would  be  as  impressive  if  told  of  a  third  per- 
son, thus  :  "  His  hair  is  gray,"  etc. — Observe  the  skill  with  which  the  atten- 
tion is  first  fixed  by  a  reference  to  the  most  impressive  characteristic  of  the 
prisoner — his  premature  grayness. 

1-26.  Of  the  164  words  in  this  stanza,  nearly  eighty-six  per  cent,  are  of 
Anglo-Saxon  origin.  What  are  the  words  of  classical  origin?  —  Of  the  164 
words,  how  many  are  other  than  monosyllables  ? 


BYRON. 


My  limbs  are  bowed,  though  not  with  toil, 

But  rusted  with  a  vile  repose  ; 
For  they  have  been  a  dungeon's  spoil, 

And  mine  has  been  the  fate  of  those 
To  whom  the  goodly  earth  and  air 
Are  banned  and  barred  —  forbidden  fare. 
But  this  was  for  my  father's  faith 
I  suffered  chains  and  courted  death. 
That  father  perished  at  the  stake 
For  tenets*  he  would  not  forsake; 
And  for  the  same  his  lineal  race 
In  darkness  found  a  dwelling-place. 
We  were  seven  who  now  are  one  — 

Six  in  youth,  and  one  in  age, 
Finished  as  they  had  begun, 

Proud  of  persecution's  rage; 
One  in  fire,  and  two  in  field, 
Their  belief  with  blood  have  sealed  — 


10.  Are  banned,  are  prohibited  or  in- 

terdicted— an  unusual  but  legiti- 
mate use  of  the  word. — barred, 
prohibited. 

11.  this  was,  etc.     The  meaning  is  it 

was,  etc.  The  real  prisoner, 
Bonnivard,  was  not  confined  for 
religious  reasons  ("my  father's 
faith"),  but  for  political  reasons. 
"Bonnivard,  prior  of  St.  Victor, 
in  his  endeavors  to  free  the 
Genoese  from  the  tyranny  of 
Charles  V.  of  Savoy,  became 
very  obnoxious  to  that  monarch, 


who  had  him  seized  secretly  and 
conveyed  to  the  Castle  of  Chil- 
lon,  where  for  six  long  years  he 
was  confined  in  a  dungeon.  In 
1 536,  when  the  cantons  of  Vaud 
and  Geneva  had  obtained  their 
independence,  the  castle  re- 
sisted for  a  long  time,  but  it 
was  eventually  captured  by  the 
Bernese,  and  Bonnivard  and 
the  other  prisoners  obtained 
their  liberty."  —  FETRIDGE  : 
Hand  -  book  for  Travellers 
(Switzerland). 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 7.  a  dungeon's  spoil.    Translate  into  plain  language. 

10.  banned  and  barred.  What  effect  is  gained  by  the  use  of  this  brace  of  al- 
literative synonyms  ? — fare.  Explain  this  use  of  the  word. 

14.  tenets.     Etymology  of  the  word  ? 

17*  We  were  seven  who  now  are  one.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

19.  had  begun.  The  imperfect  would  be  a  more  fitting  tense ;  but  rhyme 
controls  the  author's  choice. 

21.  in  fire  ...  in  field.     Explain  these  expressions. 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CH1LLOV. 


Dying  as  their  father  died, 
For  the  God  their  foes  denied ; 
Three  were  in  a  dungeon  cast, 
Of  whom  this  wreck  is  left  the  last. 

II. 

There  are  seven  pillars  of  Gothic  mould 
In  Chillon's  dungeons  deep  and  old; 
There  are  seven  columns,  massy  and  gray, 
Dim  with  a  dull  imprisoned  ray — 
A  sunbeam  which  has  lost  its  way, 
And  through  the  crevice  and  the  cleft 
Of  the  thick  wall  is  fallen  and  left, 
Creeping  o'er  the  floor  so  damp, 
Like  a  marsh's  meteor  lamp; 
And  in  each  pillar  there  is  a  ring, 

And  in  each  ring  there  is  a  chain ; 
That  iron  is  a  cankering  thing, 

For  in  these  limbs  its  teeth  remain, 


35 


28.  In  Chillon's  dungeons.  The  Castle 
of  Chillon,  with  its  massive 
walls  and  towers,  one  and  a  half 
miles  from  Montreux,  Switzer- 
land, stands  on  an  isolated  rock 
in  Lake  Leman,  twenty  -  two 
yards  from  the  bank,  with  which 
it  is  connected  by  a  bridge. 


30.  Dim,  etc.  According  to  Murray 
(Hand-book  of  Switzerland),  "it 
is  lighted  by  several  windows, 
through  which  the  sun's  light 
passes  by  reflection  from  the 
surface  of  the  lake  up  to  the 
roof,  transmitting  also  the  blue 
color  of  the  waters." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 26.  By  what  forcible  expression  does  the  prisoner 
designate  himself? 

27.  of  Gothic  mould.     Explain  this  phrase. 

29.  seven  columns.  This  expression  denotes  the  same  as  what  expression 
in  line  27  ? 

31.  sunbeam.  Grammatical  construction  ?  What  clauses  and  what  phrase 
are  adjuncts  to  this  word  ? 

34.  so.     What  is  the  force  of  the  word  here  ? 

35.  Point  out  and  explain  the  simile.     Compare  with  L1  Allegro,  page  54. 
line  96,  of  this  book. 

36.  37.  Point  out  the  corresponding  parts  in  the  balanced  sentence. 

38.  That  iron.     What  is  the  peculiar  force  of  "  that "  as  here  used  ? 

39,  40.  its  teeth  remain,  With  marks,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 


382  BYRON. 

With  marks  that  will  not  wear  away  40 

Till  I  have  done  with  this  new  day, 

Which  now  is  painful  to  these  eyes, 

Which  have  not  seen  the  sun  so  rise 

For  years — I  cannot  count  them  o'er : 

I  lost  their  long  and  heavy  score  »s 

When  my  last  brother  drooped  and  died, 

And  I  lay  living  by  his  side. 

III. 

They  chained  us  each  to  a  column  stone. 
And  we  were  three — yet,  each  alone. 
We  could  not  move  a  single  pace;  s« 

We  could  not  see  each  other's  face, 
But  with  that  pale  and  livid  light 
That  made  us  strangers  in  our  sight; 
And  thus  together,  yet  apart — 

Fettered  in  hand,  but  joined  in  heart;  ss 

'Twas  still  some  solace  in  the  dearth 
Of  the  pure  elements  of  earth, 
To  hearken  to  each  other's  speech, 
And  each  turn  comforter  to  each — 


41.  this  new  day.     See  stanza  xiv. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 41.  day,  for  the  light  of  day :  what  is  the  figure  of 
speech  ? 
48-68.  Make  a  paraphrase  of  stanza  iii. 

48.  each.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

49.  And  we ...  alone.     Point  out  the  antithesis,  and  state  what  constitutes 
the  impressiveness  of  the  thought. 

52.  But.     What  part  of  speech  as  here  used  ? 

53.  That  made  us  strangers,  etc.     Compare  with  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  book 
i.,  lines  61-64: 

"A  dungeon  horrible  on  all  sides  round 
As  one  great  furnace  flamed ;  yet  from  these  flames 
No  light,  but  rather  darkness  visible, 
Served  only  to  discover  sights  of  woe." 

54.  55-  What  figure  of  speech  in  each  of  these  lines? 
57.  the  pure  elements  of  earth.     Explain  this  expression. 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLON.  383 

With  some  new  hope,  or  legend  old,  60 

Or  song  heroically  bold ; 

But  even  these  at  length  grew  cold. 

Our  voices  took  a  dreary  tone, 

An  echo  of  the  dungeon  stone, 

A  grating  sound — not  full  and  free,  65 

As  they  of  yore  were  wont  to  be ; 

It  might  be  fancy,  but  to  me 
They  never  sounded  like  our  own. 

IV. 

I  was  the  eldest  of  the  three, 

And  to  uphold  and  cheer  the  rest  7° 

I  ought  to  do,  and  did,  my  best; 
And  each  did  well  in  his  degree. 

The  youngest,  whom  my  father  loved 
Because  our  mother's  brow  was  given 
To  him,  with  eyes  as  blue  as  heaven —  75 

For  him  my  soul  was  sorely  moved ; 
And  truly  might  it  be  distrest 
To  see  such  bird  in  such  a  nest; 
For  he  was  beautiful  as  day  , 

(When  day  was  beautiful  to  me  so 

As  to  young  eagles  being  free), 

A  polar  day  which  will  not  see 


ought.  The  word  has  here  its  origi-  commonly  used  in  the  present 


nal  past  sense = owed.  It  is  now 


tense. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 62.  But . . .  cold. — Express  the  thought  in  your  own 
words. 

64.  echo.     With  what  noun  is  "  echo  "  in  apposition  ? 

69-72.  I  was  . . .  degree.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  and  rhetor- 
ically ? 

73-106.  In  your  own  language,  draw  a  portrait  of  each  of  the  two  brothers 
(see  stanzas  iv.  and  v.). 

76.  For  him.     For  whom  ?    Is  this  a  justifiable  pleonasm  ? 

78.  such  bird,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

82-85.  ^  polar  day .  .  .  sun.  Give  your  judgment  on  this  image. — Explain 
line  85. 


384  BYRON. 

A  sunset  till  its  summer  's  gone — 

Its  sleepless  summer  of  long  light, 
The  snow-clad  offspring  of  the  sun :  ^ 

And  thus  he  was  as  pure  and  bright, 
And  in  his  natural  spirit  gay, 
With  tears  for  naught  but  others'  iiis ; 
And  then  they  flowed  like  mountain  rills, 
Unless  he  could  assuage  the  woe  90 

Which  he  abhorred  to  view  below. 

V. 

The  other  was  as  pure  of  mind, 

But  formed  to  combat  with  his  kind ; 

Strong  in  his  frame,  and  of  a  mood 

Which  'gainst  the  world  in  war  had  stood,  95 

And  perished  in  the  foremost  rank 

With  joy;  but  not  in  chains  to  pine. 
His  spirit  withered  with  their  clank ; 

I  saw  it  silently  decline — 

And  sp,  perchance,  in  sooth,*  did  mine  !  100 

But  yet  I  forced  it  on  to  cheer 
Those  relics  of  a  home  so  dear. 


97.  to  pine  must  be  connected  with  "  formed  "  in  line  93. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 86.  Supply  the  ellipsis  in  this  line. 

92.  Supply  the  ellipsis  in  this  line. 

93.  But.     Substitute  another  conjunction,  so  as  to  remove  the  awkwardress 
of  the  double  but — in  lines  93  and  97. — combat  with  his  kind.      Change  the 
phraseology. 

95,  96.  had  stood,  And  perished.  Supply  the  full  form  of  the  past  perfect  po- 
tential. 

97-99.  Select  three  synonymous  verbs  in  these  lines,  and  discriminate  the 
special  signification  of  each. 

101.  forced  it  on.     He  speaks  of  his  spirit  as  of  a  drooping  soldier  .•  what 
is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

102.  relics  of  b  home.     Explain. 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLON. 


385 


He  was  a  hunter  of  the  hills, 

Had  followed  there  the  deer  and  wolf; 

To  him  this  dungeon  was  a  gulf,  105 

And  fettered  feet  the  worst  of  ills. 


VI. 

Lake  Leman  lies  by  Chillon's  walls, 
A  thousand  feet  in  depth  below 
Its  massy  waters  meet  and  flow: 

Thus  much  the  fathom-line  was  sent  no 

From  Chillon's  snow-white  battlement, 

Which  round  about  the  wave  enthralls. 
A  double  dungeon  wall  and  wave 
Have  made,  and  like  a  living  grave. 
Below  the  surface  of  the  lake  us 

The  dark  vault  lies  wherein  we  lay; 
We  heard  it  ripple  night  and  day; 

Sounding  o'er  our  heads  it  knocked. 
And  I  have  felt  the  winter's  spray 

Wash  through  the  bars  when  winds  were  high,  120 

And  wanton  in  the  happy  sky; 
And  then  the  very  rock  hath  rocked, 
And  I  have  felt  it  shake,  unshocked, 
Because  I  could  have  smiled  to  see 
The  death  that  would  have  set  me  free.  125 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 103-106.  Observe  the  characteristic  concentration 
of  expression  in  these  lines. 

106.  What  verb  is  understood  in  this  line?  Would  the  ellipsis  be  allow- 
able in  prose  ? 

109.  massy.     Query  as  to  this  epithet. 

112.  enthralls.  What  is  the  subject  of  this  verb.  Change  the  line  into  the 
prose  order. 

114.  living  grave      What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  18,  i.) 

121.  wanton  . . .  happy.     Remark  on  these  epithets. 

122.  rock  hath  rocked.     The  play  on  words  cannot  be  considered  felicitous, 
The  noun  rock  and  the  verb  to  rock  are  of  altogether  different  origin. 

2S 


BYRON. 

VII. 

I  said  my  nearer  brother  pined; 

I  said  his  mighty  heart  declined. 

He  loathed  and  put  away  his  food; 

It  was  not  that  'twas  coarse  and  rude, 

For  we  were  used  to  hunter's  fare,  130 

And  for  the  like  had  little  care. 

The  milk  drawn  from  the  mountain  goat 

Was  changed  for  water  from  the  moat; 

Our  bread  was  such  as  captive's  tears 

Have  moistened  many  a  thousand  years,  135 

Since  man  first  pent  his  fellow-men, 

Like  brutes  within  an  iron  den. 

But  what  were  these  to  us  or  him  ? 

These  wasted  not  his  heart  or  limb ; 

My  brother's  soul  was  of  that  mould  140 

Which  in  a  palace  had  grown  cold, 

Had  his  free  breathing  been  denied 

The  range  of  the  steep  mountain-side. 

But  why  delay  the  truth  ? — he  died. 

I  saw  and  could  not  hold  his  head,  145 

Nor  reach  his  dying  hand — nor  dead, 

Though  hard  I  strove,  but  strove  in  vain, 

To  rend  and  gnash  my  bonds  in  twain. 

He  died,  and  they  unlocked  his  chain, 

And  scooped  for  him  a  shallow  grave  150 

Even  from  the  cold  earth  of  our  cave. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 126,  127.  I  said ...  I  said.  What  is  the  figure  of 
speech  ?  (See  Def.  86.) — Refer  to  the  passage  in  which  these  statements  were 
made  or  implied. 

131.  the  like.     Explain. 

134,  135.  Our  bread  .  .  .  years.  The  pupil  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  struck  with 
these  finely  pathetic  lines. 

141.  had  grown.     What  mood? 

142.  Had  . .  .  been  denied.     What  mood  ? 

144.  he  died.  Does  the  abruptness  of  the  statement  render  it  the  more  im- 
pressive ? 

146.  dead.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 
148.  gnash  my  bonds.     Explain. 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLON.  387 

I  begged  them,  as  a  boon,1*  to  lay 

His  corse  *  in  dust  whereon  the  day 

Might  shine — it  was  a  foolish  thought ; 

But  then  within  my  brain  it  wrought,  155 

That  even  in  death  his  freeborn  breast 

In  such  a  dungeon  could  not  rest. 

I  might  have  spared  my  idle  prayer — 

They  coldly  laughed,  and  laid  him  there, 

The  flat  and  turfless  earth  above  160 

The  being  we  so  much  did  love ; 

His  empty  chain  above  it  leant — 

Such  murder's  fitting  monument  I 

VIII. 

But  he  the  favorite  and  the  flower, 
Most  cherished  since  his  natal  hour,  165 

His  mother's  image  in  fair  face, 
The  infant  love  of  all  his  race, 
His  martyred  father's  dearest  thought, 
My  latest  care — for  whom  I  sought 
To  hoard  my  life,  that  his  might  be  J7o 

Less  wretched  now,  and  one  day  free — 
He,  too,  who  yet  had  held  untired 
A  spirit  natural  or  inspired — 


172.  yet,  hitherto. — held,  preserved. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 152.  boon.     Etymology? 
153.  corse.     Etymology? 

155.  within  my  I) rain  it  wrought.    Compare  a  similar  expression  in  Coleridge 
see  page  322,  lines  5,  6,  of  this  book) — 

"And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love 
Doth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain." 

156,  157.  That  even  . . .  rest.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  34.) 

162.  empty.     Explain  the  application  of  this  epithet  as  here  used. 

163.  monument.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 
165.  natal  hour.     Express  in  one  word. 

167.  The  infant  lore.     Explain. 

168,  169.  thought .  .  .  care.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  28.) 
170.  To  hoard  my  life.     Is  this  literal  or  figurative  language? 


BYRON. 

He,  too,  was  struck,  and  day  by  day 

Was  withered  on  the  stock  away.  175 

O  God  !  it  is  a  fearful  thing 

To  see  the  human  soul  take  wing 

In  any  shape,  in  any  mood  : 

I've  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood ; 

I've  seen  it  on  the  breaking  ocean  180 

Strive  with  a  swollen  convulsive  motion ; 

I've  seen  the  sick  and  ghastly  bed 

Of  sin,  delirious  with  its  dread ; 

But  these  were  horrors — this  was  woe 

Unmixed  with  such — but  sure  and  slow.  185 

He  faded,  and  so  calm  and  meek, 

So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  weak, 

So  tearless,  yet  so  tender — kind 

And  grieved  for  those  he  left  behind  ; 

With  all  the  while  a  cheek  whose  bloom  190 

Was  as  a  mockery  of  the  tomb, 

Whose  tints  as  gently  sunk  away 

As  a  departing  rainbow's  ray — 

An  eye  of  most  transparent  light, 

That  almost  made  the  dungeon  bright,  195 

And  not  a  word  of  murmur,  not 

A  groan  o'er  his  untimely  lot — 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 177.  take  wing.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See 
Def.  20.) 

179-181.  How  does  the  author  express  death  in  battle  ?    In  shipwreck  ? 

183.  sin.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  28.)  Translate  it  into 
the  concrete. 

186-189.  He  faded  .  . .  behind.  Point  out  examples  of  an  exquisite  choice  of 
words. 

189.  for  those  he  left  behind.  The  elder  brother  would  be  the  sole  survivor, 
yet  the  plural  is  used.  "  There  is  much  delicacy  in  this  plural.  By  such  a 
fanciful  multiplying  of  the  survivors  the  elder  brother  prevents  self-intrusion  ; 
himself  and  his  loneliness  are,  as  it  were,  kept  out  of  sight  and  forgotten." — 
HALES. 

193.  As  a  departing,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

I94i  195-  An  eye  ...  bright.     What  word  alone  arrests  the  hyperbole  ? 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLON.  389 

A  little  talk  of  better  days, 

A  little  hope  my  own  to  raise ; 

For  I  was  sunk  in  silence — lost  zoo 

In  this  last  loss,  of  all  the  most. 

And  then  the  sighs  he  would  suppress 

Of  fainting  nature's  feebleness. 

More  slowly  drawn,  grew  less  and  less. 

I  listened,  but  I  could  not  hear —  205 

I  called,  for  I  was  wild  with  fear ; 

I  knew  'twas  hopeless,  but  my  dread 

Would  not  be  thus  admonished ; 

I  called,  and  thought  I  heard  a  sound — 

I  burst  my  chain ;  with  one  strong  bound  *«> 

I  rushed  to  him :  I  found  him  not. 

I  only  stirred  in  this  black  spot ; 

I  only  lived — I  only  drew 

Th'  accursed  breath  of  dungeon  dew ; 

The  last,  the  sole,  the  dearest  link  «$ 

Between  me  and  the  eternal  brink, 

Which  bound  me  to  my  failing  race, 

Was  broken  in  this  fatal  place. 

One  on  the  earth,  and  one  beneath — 

My  brothers — both  had  ceased  to  breathe.  320 

I  took  that  hand  that  lay  so  still — 

Alas  !  my  own  was  full  as  chill ; 

I  had  not  strength  to  stir  or  strive, 

But  felt  that  I  was  still  alive — 

A  frantic  feeling,  when  we  know  225 

That  what  we  love  shall  ne'er  be  so. 

I  know  not  why 

I  could  not  die, 

I  had  no  earthly  hope — but  faith, 
And  that  forbade  a  selfish  death.  230 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 199.  my  own.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 
217.  Which.     What  is  the  antecedent? 
230.  a  selfish  death.     Explain. 


39o  BYRON. 


IX. 
What  next  befell  me  then  and  there 

I  know  not  well — I  never  knew. 
First  came  the  loss  of  light  and  air, 

And  then  of  darkness  too. 

I  had  no  thought,  no  feeling — none  :  235 

Among  the  stones  I  stood  a  stone ; 
And  was,  scarce  conscious  what  I  wist, 
As  shrubless  crags  within  the  mist ; 
For  all  was  blank  and  bleak  and  gray; 
It  was  not  night — it  was  not  day ;  240 

It  was  not  even  the  dungeon  light, 
So  hateful  to  my  heavy  sight ; 
But  vacancy  absorbing  space, 
And  fixedness,  without  a  place  ; 

There  were  no  stars,  no  earth,  no  time,  245 

No  check,  no  change,  no  good,  no  clime ; 
But  silence,  and  a  stirless  breath 
Which  neither  was  of  life  nor  death — 
A  sea  of  stagnant  idleness, 
Blind,  boundless,  mute,  and  motionless.  250 

X. 

A  light  broke  in  upon  my  brain — 

It  was  the  carol  of  a  bird ; 
It  ceased ;  and  then  it  came  again — 

The  sweetest  song  ear  ever  heard ; 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 231-250.  The  description  of  the  deadly  torpor  that 
now  came  over  the  prisoner  is  of  masterly  force.  It  is  in  stanza  ix.  that 
Byron  tries  his  power  of  language  to  the  utmost,  and  displays  best  how  re- 
markable that  power  was. — The  pupils  may  select  the  most  striking  touches 
in  this  lurid  picture. — An  examination  of  the  vocabulary  may  be  made  as  to 
the  proportion  of  Anglo-Saxon  and  classical,  of  long  and  short  words,  and  of 
nouns  as  compared  with  words  of  other  parts  of  speech. 

251-258.  By  what  is  the  prisoner  delivered  from  the  deadly  torpor  described 
in  stanza  ix.  ?  Compare  this  with  the  mode  in  which  the  Ancient  Mariner 
(see  Coleridge's  poem  of  that  name)  is  saved  from  a  like  stagnation,  by  the 
sight  of  the  fishes  disporting  themselves.  What  do  you  take  to  be  the  phi- 
losophy of  the  matter  ? 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLON.  391 

And  mine  was  thankful  till  my  eyes  25$ 

Ran  over  with  the  glad  surprise, 

And  they  that  moment  could  not  see 

I  was  the  mate  of  misery ; 

But  then,  by  dull  degrees,  came  back 

My  senses  to  their  wonted  track :  260 

I  saw  the  dungeon  walls  and  floor 

Close  slowly  round  me  as  before ; 

I  saw  the  glimmer  of  the  sun 

Creeping  as  it  before  had  done ; 

But  through  the  crevice  where  it  came,  =6$ 

That  bird  was  perched  as  fond  and  tame, 

And  tamer  than  upon  the  tree — 
A  lovely  bird  with  azure  wings, 
And  song  that  said  a  thousand  things, 

And  seemed  to  say  them  all  to  me  I  .  B?D 

I  never  saw  its  light  before — 
I  ne'er  shall  see  its  likeness  more. 
It  seemed  to  me  to  want  a  mate, 
But  was  not  half  so  desolate  ; 

And  it  was  come  to  love  me  when  275 

None  lived  to  love  me  so  again, 
And,  cheering  from  my  dungeon's  brink, 
Had  brought  me  back  to  feel  and  think. 
I  know  not  if  it  late  were  free, 

Or  broke  its  cage  to  perch  on  mine ;  380 

But  knowing  well  captivity, 

Sweet  bird !  I  could  not  wish  for  thine—- 
Or if  it  were  in  winged  guise, 
A  visitant  from  Paradise  ; 

For — Heaven  forgive  that  thought,  the  while  *g$ 

Which  made  me  both  to  weep  and  smile ! — 
I  sometimes  deemed  that  it  might  be 
My  brother's  soul  come  down  to  me ; 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 257,  258.  And  they  . .  .  misery.    Explain  this  passage. 
265-292.  Paraphrase  the  touching  episode  of  the  bird.     Select  passages  of 
special  beauty,  tenderness,  or  pathos. 


392  BYRON. 

But  then  at  last  away  it  flew, 

And  then  'twas  mortal  well  I  knew ;  290 

For  he  would  never  thus  have  flown, 

And  left  me  twice  so  doubly  lone — 

Lone  as  the  corse  within  its  shroud, 

Lone  as  a  solitary  cloud,  . 

A  single  cloud  on  a  sunny  day,  295 

While  all  the  rest  of  heaven  is  clear, 
A  frown  upon  the  atmosphere, 
That  hath  no  business  to  appear 

When  skies  are  blue  and  earth  is  gay. 

XL 

A  kind  of  change  came  in  my  fate —  300 

My  keepers  grew  compassionate. 
I  know  not  what  had  made  them  so — 
They  were  inured  to  sights  of  woe  ; 
But  so  it  was — my  broken  chain 

With  links  unfastened  did  remain  \  305 

And  it  was  liberty  to  stride 
Along  my  cell  from  side  to  side, 
And  up  and  down,  and  then  athwart, 
And  tread  it  over  every  part : 

And  round  the  pillars  one  by  one,  3™ 

Returning  where  my  walk  begun — 
Avoiding  only,  as  I  trod, 
My  brothers'  graves  without  a  sod  ; 
For  if  I  thought  with  heedless  tread 
My  steps  profaned  their  lowly  bed,  315 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  294.  Lone  as  a  solitary  cloud.  Compare  Words- 
worth— ..  j  wandered  ]onely  as  a  c]oud. 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills." 

301.  compassionate.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

309.  tread.     Grammatical  construction? 

311.  begun.     Remark  on  the  form. 

312-317.  Express  in  your  own  words  the  affecting  circumstance  noted  in 
these  lines. 

315.  their  lowly  bed.  In  what  poem,  previously  given,  does  this  expression 
occur  ? 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON. 

My  breath  came  gaspingly  and  thick, 
And  my  crushed  heart  fell  blind  and  sick. 


XII. 
I  made  a  footing  in  the  wall : 

It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape, 
For  I  had  buried  one  and  all  320 

Who  loved  me  in  a  human  shape  : 
And  the  whole  earth  would  henceforth  be 
A  wider  prison  unto  me  ; 
No  child,  no  sire,  no  kin  had  I, 

No  partner  m  my  misery.  325 

I  thought  of  this,  and  I  was  glad, 
For  thought  of  them  had  made  me  mad , 
But  I  was  curious  to  ascend 
To  my  barred  windows,  and  to  bend 
Once  more  upon  the  mountain  high  33° 

The  quiet  of  a  loving  eye. 

XIII. 

I  saw  them — and  they  were  the  same  ; 
They  were  not  changed,  like  me,  in  frame  ; 
I  saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow 
On  high — their  wide,  long  lake  below,  335 

And  the  blue  Rhone  in  fullest  flow ; 
I  heard  the  torrents  leap  and  gush 
O'er  channelled  rock  and  broken  bush ; 
I  saw  the  white-walled  distant  town, 
And  whiter  sails  go  skimming  down  ;  340 

And  then  there  was  a  little  isle, 
Which  in  my  very  face  did  smile — 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 321.  in  a.  human  shape.    To  what  word  is  this  phrase 
an  adjunct  ? 

324.  No  , .  .  I.     Remark  on  the  order  of  words. 
328-331.  Express  in  your  own  words  this  fine  thought. 
334.  thousand  years  of  snow.     Explain. 


394 

The  only  one  in  view ; 
A  small  green  isle,  it  seemed  no  more, 
Scarce  broader  than  my  dungeon  floor ;  345 

But  in  it  there  were  three  tall  trees, 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  mountain  breeze, 
And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing, 
And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing 

Of  gentle  breath  and  hue.  35° 

The  fish  swam  by  the  castle  wall, 
And  they  seemed  joyous  each  and  all ; 
The  eagle  rode  the  rising  blast — 
Methought  he  never  flew  so  fast 

As  then  he  seemed  to  fly ;  355 

And  then  new  tears  came  in  my  eye, 
And  I  felt  troubled,  and  would  fain 
I  had  not  left  my  recent  chain ; 
And  when  I  did  descend  again, 

The  darkness  of  my  dun  abode  360 

Fell  on  me  as  a  heavy  load ; 
It  was  as  in  a  new-dug  grave, 
Closing  o'er  one  we  sought  to  save ; 
And  yet  my  glance,  too  much  opprest, 
Had  almost  need  of  such  a  rest.  3&s 

XIV. 
It  might  be  months,  or  years,  or  days — 

I  kept  no  count,  I  took  no  note — 
I  had  no  hope  my  eyes  to  raise, 

And  clear  them  of  their  dreary  mote ; 
At  last  came  men  to  set  me  free,  370 

I  asked  not  why,  and  recked  not  where ; 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 344.  no  more.    Explain. 

347-349-  And  . .  .  growing.     Observe  the  effect  of  the  polysyndeton. 

351.  The  flsh,  etc.     Compare  Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner,  lines  272-291. 

364,  365.  And  yet ...  rest.     Explain. 

366-392.  Give  a  paraphrase  of  stanza  xiv. 

368.  I  had  ...  raise.     What  is  the  prose  order  ? 


THE  PRISONER   OF  CHILLON. 

It  was  at  length  the  same  to  me, 
Fettered  or  fetterless  to  be ; 
I  learned  to  love  despair. 

And  thus,  when  they  appeared  at  last,  375 

And  all  my  bonds  aside  were  cast, 
These  heavy  walls  to  me.  had  grown 
A  hermitage — and  all  my  own  ! 
And  half  I  felt  as  they  were  come 

To  tear  me  from  a  sacred  home.  380 

With  spiders  I  had  friendship  made 
And  watched  them  in  their  sullen  trade ; 
Had  seen  the  mice  by  moonlight  play — 
And  why  should  I  feel  less  than  they  ? 
We  were  all  inmates  of  one  place,  385 

And  I,  the  monarch  of  each  race, 
Had  power  to  kill ;  yet,  strange  to  tell ! 
In  quiet  we  had  learned  to  dwell. 
My  very  chains  and  I  grew  friends, 
So  much  a  long  communion  tends  39° 

To  make  us  what  we  are  :  even  I 
Regained  my  freedom  with  a  sigh. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 378.  A  hermitage,  etc.     Compare  Lovelace's  famous 

lines — 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  an  heritage." 


XXVI. 

PERCY    BYSSHE   SHELLEY. 

1792-1822. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  SYMONDS.1 
i.  As  a  poet  Shelley  contributed  a  new  quality  to  English  lit- 
erature—  a  quality  of  ideality,  freedom,  and  spiritual  audacity, 
which  severe  critics  of  other  nations  think  we  lack.    Byron's  dar- 

1  From  Shelley,  by  John  Addington  Symonds,  in  Morley's  English  Men  of 
Letters. 


SYAfONDS'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  SHELLEY.      397 

ing  is  in  a  different  region ;  his  elemental  worldliness  and  pun- 
gent satire  do  not  liberate  our  energies  or  cheer  us  with  new 
hopes  and  splendid  vistas.  Wordsworthr  the  very  antithesis  to 
Shelley  in  his  reverf  "t  arrnrH  wi'th  institution^  suits  our  medita- 
tive  mood,  sustains  us  with  a  sound  .philosophy,  and  braces  usjyy 
healthy  contact  with  Nature  he  so  dearly  loved.  But  in  Words- 
worth tn~ere  is  none  of  Shelley's  magnetism.  What  remains  of 
permanent  value  in  Coleridge's  poetry — such  works  as  Christa- 
bel,  the  Ancient  Mariner,  or  Kubla  Khan — is  a  product  of  pure 
artistic  fancy,  tempered  by  the  author's  mysticism.  Keats,  true 
and  sacred  poet  as  he  was,  loved  Nature  with  a  somewhat  sen- 
suous devotion.  She  was  for  him  a  mistress  rather  than  a  Dioti- 
ma ;  nor  did  he  share  the  prophetic  fire  which  burns  in  Shelley's 
verse,  quite  apart  from  the  enunciation  of  his  favorite  tenets. 

2.  In  none  of  Shelley's  greatest  contemporaries  was  the  lyrical 
faculty  so  paramount ;  and  whether  we  consider  his  minor  songs, 
his  odes,  or  his  more  complicated  choral  dramas,  we  acknowledge 
that  he  was  the  loftiest  and  the  most  spontaneous  singer  of  our 
language.    In  range  of  power  he  was  also  conspicuous  above  the 
rest.    Not  only  did  he  write  the  best  lyrics,  but  the  best  tragedy, 
the  best  translations,  and  the  best  familiar  poems  of  his  century. 
As  a  satirist  and  humorist  I  cannot  place  him  so  high  as  some 
of  his  admirers  do  ;  and  the  purely  polemical  portions  of  his 
poems,  those  in  which  he  puts  forth  his  antagonism  to  tyrants 
and  religions  and  custom  in  all  its  myriad  forms,  seem  to  me  to 
degenerate  at  intervals  into  poor  rhetoric. 

3.  While  his  genius  was  so  varied  and  its  flight  so  unap- 
proached  in  swiftness,  it  would  be  vain  to  deny  that  Shelley,  as  an 
artist,  had  faults  from  which  the  men  with  whom  I  have  compared 
him  were  more  free.    The  most  prominent  of  these  are  haste,  in- 
rnhprpnrf^  yprhal  r?irp1pssTies.sr  incompleteness,  a  want  of  narra- 
tive for^e,  find  a  wpa.lc  hnld  on  nbier.tivp  rpfllitips.    Even  his  warm^ 
est  admirers,  if  they  are  sincere  critics,  will  concede  that  his  verse, 
taken  altogether,  is  marked  by  inequality.    In  his  eager  self-aban- 
donment to  inspiration  he  produced  much  that  is  unsatisfying 
simply  because  it  is  not  ripe.    There  is  no  defect  of  power  in  him, 
but  a  defect  of  patience ;  and  the  final  word  to  be  pronounced 
in  estimating  the  larger  bulk  of  his  poetry  is  the  word  immature. 

4.  Not  only  was  the  poet  young,  but  the  fruit  of  his  young 


398  SHELLEY. 

mind  had  been  plucked  before  it  had  been  duly  mellowed  by  re- 
flection. Again,  he  did  not  care  enough  for  common  things  to 
present  them  with  artistic  fulness.  He  was  intolerant  of  detail, 
and  thus  failed  to  model  with  the  roundness  that  we  find  in 
Goethe's  work.  He  flew  at  the  grand,  the  spacious,  the  sublime  • 
and  ilid  not  always  succeed  in  realizing  for  his  readers  what  he 
h  nfL  imaging  A  certain  want  of  faith  in  his  own  powers,  fos- 
tered by  the  extraordinary  discouragement  under  which  he  had 
to  write,  prevented  him  from  finishing  what  he  began,  or  from 
giving  that  ultimate  form  of  perfection  to  his  longer  works  which 
we  admire  in  shorter  pieces,  like  the  Ode  to  the  West  Wind. 
When  a  poem  was  ready,  he  had  it  hastily  printed,  and  passed  on 
to  fresh  creative  efforts.  If  anything  occurred*  to  interrupt  his 
energy,  he  flung  the  sketch  aside. 

5.  Some  of  these  defects,  if  we  may  use  the  word  at  all  to  in- 
dicate our  sense  that  Shelley  might  by  care  have  been  made 
equal  to  his  highest  self,  were  in  a  great  measure  the  correlative 
of  his  chief  quality — the  ideality  of  which  I  have  already  spoken. 
He  composed  with  all  his  faculties — jnp.nta.lj  pniQtirmpi  ar>ri  pKyc. 
ical — at  the  utmost  strain,  at  a  white  heat  of  intense  fervor,  striv- 
ing to  attain  one  object,  the  truest  and  most  passionate  investi- 
ture for  the  thoughts  which  had  inflamed  his  over-quick  imagina- 
tion.    The  result  is  that  his  finest  work  has  more  the  stamp  of 
something  natural  and  elemental — the  wind,  the  sea,  the  depth 
of  air — than  of  a  more  artistic  product.     Plato  would  have  said 
"the  Muses  filled  this  man  with  sacred  madness,"  and,  when  he 
wrote,  he  was  no  longer  in  his  own  control. 

6.  There  was,  moreover,  ever  present  in  his  nature  an  effort,  an 
aspiration  after  a  better  than  the  best  this  world  can  show,  which 
prompted  him  to  blend  the  choicest  products  of  his  thought  and 
fancy  with  the  fairest  images  borrowed  from  the  earth  on  which 
he  lived.     He  never  willingly  composed  except  under  the  im- 
pulse to  body  forth  a  vision  of  the  love  and  light  and  life  which 
was  the  spirit  of  the  power  he  worshipped.     This  persistent  up- 
ward striving,  this  earnestness,  this  passionate  intensity,  this  piety 
of  soul  and  purity  of  inspiration,  give  a  quite  unique  spirituality 
to  his  poems.     But  it  cannot  be  expected  that  the  colder  perfec- 
tions of  the  Academic  art  should  be  always  found  in  them.    They 
have  something  of  the  waywardness  and  negligence  of  nature, 


ODE   TO  A   SKYLARK. 


399 


something  of  the  asymmetreia  we  admire  in  the  earlier  creations 
of  Greek  architecture.  That  Shelley,  acute  critic  and  profound 
student  as  he  was,  could  conform  himself  to  rule  and  show  him- 
self an  artist  in  the  stricter  sense  is,  however,  abundantly  proved 
by  The  Cenci  and  by  Adonais.  The  reason  why  he  did  not  al- 
ways observe  this  method  will  be  understood  by  those  who  have 
studied  his  Defence  of  Poetry,  and  learned  to  sympathize  with  his 
impassioned  theory  of  art. 

7.  If  a  final  word  were  needed  to  utter  the  unutterable  sense 
of  waste  excited  in  us  by  Shelley's  premature  absorption  into 
the  mystery  of  the  unknown,  we  might  find  it  in  the  last  lines  of 
his  own  Alastor  * 

And  all  the  shows  o'  the  world  are  frail  and  vain 
To  weep  a  loss  that  turns  their  light  to  shade. 
It  is  a  woe  "  too  deep  for  tears  "  when  all 
Is  reft  at  once,  when  some  surpassing  spirit, 
Whose  light  adorned  the  world  around  it,  leaves 
Those  who  remain  behind  nor  sobs  nor  groans, 
The  passionate  tumult  of  a  clinging  hope; 
But  pale  despair  and  cold  tranquillity, 
Nature's  vast  frame,  the  web  of  human  things, 
Birth  and  the  grave,  that  are  not  as  they  were. 


I.— ODE   TO   A    SKYLARK.       / 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  Ode  to  a  Skylark,  the  most  popular  of  all  Shelley's 
lyrics,  was  produced  in  1820,  when  the  poet  was  in  his  twenty-ninth  year — two 
years  before  his  death.  "It  is,"  says  Prof.  De  Mille,  " penetrated  through 
and  through  with  the  spirit  of  the  beautiful,  and  has  more  of  high  and  pure 
poetic  rapture  than  any  other  ode  in  existence."] 

I. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit, 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — What  are  the  principal  characteristics  of  this  lyric  ? 
Ans.  They  are  delicacy  of  imagery  and  exquisite  melody  of  language. 

1-5.  What  kind  of  sentence,  grammatically  considered,  is  the  first  stanza  ? 
— Point  out  any  epithets  of  special  beauty  in  this  stanza. — Explain  the  expres 
sion  "  unpremeditated  art." 


4oo  SHELLEY* 


II. 

Higher  still  and  higher, 

From  the  earth  thou  springest 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire ; 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

III. 
In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun, 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening, 

Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

IV. 
The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight ; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven, 

In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight. 

V. 
Keen  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere, 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 

In  the  white  dawn  clear, 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  there. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  6-10.  Higher . . .  singest.  Arrange  in  the  prose 
order.  What  is  meant  by  "  the  blue  deep  ?" 

10.  And  singing  .  .  .  singest.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  18. J) 

15.  unbodied  joy.     Explain  this  expression. 

16-20.  In  stanza  iv.  give  an  instance  of  alliteration. — Point  out  a  fine  image 
and  give  the  kind  of  figure. — Give  an  example  of  oxymoron  in  this  stanza. 

21-25.  What  is  the  thought  in  this  stanza  ? 


1  This  sentence  is  an  example  of  that  form  of  antithesis  to  which  the  name 
antimetabole  is  sometimes  given  :  the  order  of  words  is  reversed  in  each  mem- 
ber of  the  antithesis. 


ODE    TO  A   SKYLARK. 


401 


VI. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 

From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflowed, 

VII. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not; 

What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 

Drops  so  bright  to  see, 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

VIII. 
Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 27.  is  loud  How  do  you  defend  the  use  of  the 
singular  verb  here  ? 

28.  when  night  is  bare.     Explain. 

30.  rains  out  her  beams.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

31.  What. . .  not.     Observe  that  the  poet  had  already  implied  ignorance  of 
the  creature's  nature  by  affirming  it  to  be  a  "spirit "  (line  i),  and  denying  it  to 
be  "bird"  (line  2). 

33-35.  From  rainbow  .  .  .  melody.  Arrange  in  the  prose  order  and  supply 
ellipsis. 

36-60.  In  line  32  the  poet,  finding  it  impossible  to  tell  what  the  skylark  is, 
asks  "  What  is  most  like  thee  ?"  and  he  now  proceeds,  in  stanzas  viii.-xii.,  to 
answer  this  question  in  a  series  of  lovely  images — "apples  of  silver  in  pictures 
of  gold."  On  this  passage  it  is  well  observed  by  De  Mille  (Rhetoric,  p. 
109) :  "  The  poet,  in  his  high  enthusiasm,  seems  to  exhaust  himself  in  fitting 
subjects  of  comparison.  Each  one  as  it  comes  is  made  use  of,  but  each  one 
is  hurriedly  dismissed  in  order  to  present  another ;  and  the  rich  and  varied 
imagery  never  fails  to  respond  to  the  sustained  elevation  of  this  perfect 
song." 

36-40.  Paraphrase  the  first  simile. 

26 


402 


SHELLEY. 

IX. 
Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 

Soul  in  secret  hour, 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her  bower.  4, 

X. 

Like  a  glowworm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 

Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass,  which  screen  it  from  the  view.  5° 

XI. 
Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflowered, 

Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy-winged  thieves.  55 

XII. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers. 

On  the  tinkling  grass, 
Rain-awakened  flowers, 

All  that  ever  was 
Joyous  and  clear  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  surpass.  60 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 41-45.  In  stanza  ix.,  what  words  are  of  other  than 
Anglo-Saxon  origin  ? 

46-50.  Examine  stanza  x.  with  respect  to  its  melody. — Give  examples  of  al« 
literation.  Do  these  aid  the  melody  ? 

47.  dell  of  dew.     Change  the  adjective  phrase  into  an  adjective  word. 

55.  Cite  a  figurative  expression  in  this  line. 

56.  vernal.     Substitute  an  Anglo-Saxon  synonym. 

57.  tinkling  grass.     What  is  the  force  of  the  epithet? 
60.  Point  out  the  example  of  polysyndeton  in  this  line. 


ODE    TO  A   SKYLARK. 


403 


XIII. 
Teach  us,  sprite  *  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine : 
I  have  never  heard 

Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine.  65 


XIV. 

Chorus  hymeneal, 

Or  triumphal  chant, 
Matched  with  thine  would  be  all 

But  an  empty  vaunt — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want. 


XV. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields  or  waves  or  mountains  ? 

What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind  ?  what  ignorance  of  pain  ? 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 61-65.  What  word  in  stanza  xiii.  belongs  exclusive- 
ly to  the  diction  of  poetry  ?  Why  is  this  form  here  used  by  the  author  ? 

63.  Praise  of  love,  .etc.  From  the  fact  that  the  "  praise  of  love  or  wine  "  has 
been  the  theme  of  much  of  the  most  rapturous  utterances  of  the  poets,  Shel- 
ley, merging  the  generic  in  the  specific,  employs  this  expression  to  typify  im- 
passioned poetry  in  general. 

65.  panted.     From  what  is  the  image  drawn  ? 

66.  Chorus  hymeneal.     Explain. 
68.  with  thine.     With  what  ? 

70.  Observe  with  what  accentuated  expression  this  line  reiterates  the  idea 
foreshadowed  in  the  words  "an  empty  vaunt." 

71-7$.  What . . .  pain.  What  effect  is  gained  by  the  use  of  the  interrogative 
form  ? 

71.  fountains,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

73-75.  What  fields  . . .  plain.  Enumerate  the  particular  objects  suggested  as 
the  possible  sources  of  the  bird's  "  happy  strain." 


4o4  SHELLEY. 


XVI. 
With  thy  clear,  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be : 
Shadow  of  annoyance 

Never  came  near  thee : 
Thou  lovest;  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety.  8c 

XVII. 
Waking  or  asleep, 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream, 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal  stream  ?  85 

XVIII. 
We  look  before  and  after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not : 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought.       9° 

XIX. 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate  and  pride  and  fear; 
If  we  were  things  born 

Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near.  95 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 76-80.  In  stanza  xvi.,  what  word  belongs  to  the  dic- 
tion of  poetry? — What  impressive  antithesis  in  this  stanza? 

82-85.  Th<>u  of  death,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  22.)- 
Note  the  fine  cadence  in  the  last  line  of  the  stanza. — Explain  the  words 
"  crystal  stream." 

86-90.  What  are  the  only  (two)  words  not  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin  in  this 
stanza? — How  does  the  poet  express  the  thought  that  man  is  a  creature  of 
hope  and  memory  ? — What  fine  contrast  is  presented  in  the  last  line  of  this 
stanza  ? — By  what  device  of  alliteration  is  the  antithesis  aided  ? 

91-95.  Yet .  .  .  near.  The  idea  in  this  stanza  may  be  thus  expressed  in 
prose  :  Even  if  we  could  divest  ourselves  of  earthly  passions,  we  should  come 
short  of  the  beatitude  with  which  nature  has  gifted  that  "  blithe  spirit,"  the 
subject  of  the  poem. 


DEFENCE   OF  POETRY.  ^ 

XX. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground !  too 

XXI. 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now.  105 


II.— DEFENCE   OF   POETRY. 

1.  The  functions  of  the  poetical  faculty  are  twofold :   by  one 
it  creates  new  materials  of  knowledge  and  power  and  pleasure  ; 
by  the  other  it  engenders  in  the  mind  a  desire  to  reproduce  and 
arrange  them  according  to  a  certain  rhythm  and  order  which  may 
be  called  the  beautiful  and  the  good.     The  cultivation  of  poetry  5 
is  never  more  to  be  desired  than  at  periods  when,  from  an  excess 
of  the  selfish  and  calculating  principle,  the  accumulation  of  the 
materials  of  external  life  exceed  the  quantity  of  the  power  of  as- 
similating them  to  the  internal  laws  of  human  nature.    The  body 
has  then  become  too  unwieldy  for  that  which  animates  it.  I0 

2.  Poetry  is  indeed  something  divine.     It  is  at  once  the  centre 
and  circumference  of  knowledge;  it  is  that  which  comprehends 
all  science,  and  that  to  which  all  science  must  be  referred.    It  is 
at  the  same  time  the  root  and  blossom  of  all  other  systems  of 
thought;  it  is  that  from  which  all  spring,  and  that  which  adorns  I5 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  96-100.  Better . . .  ground.  Transpose  stanza  xx. 
into  the  prose  order. — By  what  poetic  appellation  does  the  poet  designate  the 
skylark  ? 

101-105.  In  tnis  raptuous  flight  of  the  imagination  the  poet  soars  into  the 
very  heaven  of  his  invention. 


406  SHELLEY. 

all;  and  that  which,  if  blighted,  denies  the  fruit  and  the  seed,  and 
withholds  from  the  barren  world  the  nourishment  and  the  succes- 
sion of  the  scions  of  the  tree  of  life.  It  is  the  perfect  and  con- 
summate surface  and  bloom  of  all  things ;  it  is  as  the  odor  and 
the  color  of  the  rose  to  the  texture  of  the  elements  which  com-  20 
pose  it,  as  the  form  and  splendor  of  unfaded  beauty  to  the  secrets 
of  anatomy  and  corruption.  What  were  virtue,  love,  patriotism, 
friendship ;  what  were  the  scenery  of  this  beautiful  universe  which 
we  inhabit ;  what  were  our  consolations  on  this  side  of  the  grave, 
and  what  were  our  aspirations  beyond  it,  if  poetry  did  not  as-  25 
cend  to  bring  light  and  fire  from  those  eternal  regions  where  the 
owl-winged  faculty  of  calculation  dare  not  ever  soar  ?  Poetry  is 
not,  like  reasoning,  a  power  to  be  exerted  according  to  the  deter- 
mination of  the  will.  A  man  cannot  say,  "I  will  compose  po- 
etry." The  greatest  poet  even  cannot  say  it;  for  the  mind  in  30 
creation  is  as  a  fading  coal,  which  some  invisible  influence,  like 
an  inconstant  wind,  awakens  to  transitory  brightness.  This 
power  arises  from  within,  like  the  color  of  a  flower,  which  fades 
and  changes  as  it  is  developed,  and  the  conscious  portions  of  our 
natures  are  unprophetic  either  of  its  approach  01  its  departure.  35 
Could  this  influence  be  durable  in  its  original  purity  and  force, 
it  is  impossible  to  predict  the  greatness  of  the  results ;  but  when 
composition  begins,  inspiration  is  already  on  the  decline,  and  the 
most  glorious  poetry  that  has  ever  been  communicated  to  the 
world  is  probably  a  feeble  shadow  of  the  original  conceptions  of  ^ 
the  poet.  I  appeal  to  the  greatest  poets  of  the  present  day, 
whether  it  is  not  an  error  to  assert  that  the  finest  passages  of  po- 
etry are  produced  by  labor  and  study.  The  toil  and  the  delay 
recommended  by  critics  can  be  justly  interpreted  to  mean  no 
more  than  a  careful  observation  of  the  inspired  moments,  and  an  « 
artificial  connection  of  the  spaces  between  their  suggestions  by 
the  intermixture  of  conventional  expressions — a  necessity  only 
imposed  by  the  limitedness  of  the  poetical  faculty  itself;  for  Mil- 
ton conceived  the  Paradise  Lost  as  a  whole  before  he  executed  it 
in  portions.  We  have  his  own  authority  also  for  the  Muse  having  * 
"dictated"  to  him  the  "unpremeditated  song."  And  let  this  be 
an  answer  to  those  who  would  allege  the  fifty-six  various  readings 
of  the  first  line  of  the  Orlando  Furioso.  Compositions  so  pro- 
duced are  to  poetry  what  mosaic  is  to  painting.  This  instinct 


DEFENCE   OF  POETRY.  4O7 

and  intuition  of  the  poetical  faculty  is  still  more  observable  in  the  ss 
plastic  and  pictorial  arts.  A  great  statue  or  picture  grows  under 
the  power  of  the  artist  as  a  child  in  the  mother's  womb ;  and  the 
very  mind  which  directs  the  hands  in  formation  is  incapable  of 
accounting  to  itself  for  the  origin,  the  gradations,  or  the  media  of 
the  process.  60 

3.  Poetry  is  the  record  of  the  best  and  happiest  moments  of  the 
happiest  and  best  minds.  We  are  aware  of  evanescent  visitations 
of  thought  and  feeling  sometimes  associated  with  place  or  person, 
sometimes  regarding  our  own  mind  alone,  and  always  arising  un- 
foreseen and  departing  unbidden,  but  elevating  and  delightful  be-  &s 
yond  all  expression;  so  that  even  in  the  desire  and  the  regret 
they  leave  there  cannot  but  be  pleasure,  participating  as  it  does 
in  the  nature  of  its  object.  It  is,  as  it  were,  the  interpenetration 
of  a  diviner  nature  through  our  own;  but  its  footsteps  are  like 
those  of  a  wind  over  the  sea,  which  the  coming  calm  erases,  and  7° 
whose  traces  remain  only,  as  on  the  wrinkled  sand  which  paves 
it.  These  and  corresponding  conditions  of  being  are  experienced 
principally  by  those  of  the  most  delicate  sensibility  and  the  most 
enlarged  imagination ;  and  the  state  of  mind  produced  by  them 
is  at  war  with  every  base  desire.  The  enthusiasm  of  virtue,  love,  75 
patriotism,  and  friendship  is  essentially  linked  with  such  emo- 
tions ;  and  whilst  they  last,  self  appears  as  what  it  is,  an  atom  to 
a  universe.  Poets  are  not  only  subject  to  these  experiences  as 
spirits  of  the  most  refined  organization,  but  they  can  color  all 
that  they  combine  with  the  evanescent  hues  of  this  ethereal  80 
world.  A  word,  a  trait,  in  the  representation  of  a  scene  or  a  pas- 
sion will  touch  the  enchanted  chord,  and  reanimate,  in  those  who 
have  ever  experienced  these  emotions,  the  sleeping,  the  cold,  the 
buried  image  of  the  past.  Poetry  thus  makes  immortal  all  that 
is  best  and  most  beautiful  in  the  world;  it  arrests  the  vanishing  85 
apparitions  which  haunt  the  interlunations  of  life,  and,  veiling 
them,  or  in  language  or  in  form,  sends  them  forth  among  man- 
kind, bearing  sweet  news  of  kindred  joy  to  those  with  whom  their 
sisters  abide  —  abide,  because  there  is  no  portal  of  expression 
from  the  caverns  of  the  spirit  which  they  inhabit  into  the  uni-9o 
verse  of  things.  Poetry  redeems  from  decay  the  visitations  of 
the  divinity  in  man. 


XXVII. 

WILLIAM   CULLEN    BRYANT. 

1794-1878. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  G.W.CURTIS. 

i.  There  was  a  mournful  propriety  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
death  of  Bryant.  He  was  stricken  just  as  he  had  discharged  a 
characteristic  duty '  with  all  the  felicity  for  which  he  was  noted, 

1  Bryant  received  the  stroke  that  resulted  in  his  death  immediately  after  the 


CURTIS' S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  BRYANT. 


409 


and  he  was  probably  never  wholly  conscious  from  that  moment. 
Happily  we  may  believe  that  he  was  sensible  of  no  decay,  and 
his  intimate  friends  had  noted  little.  He  was  hale,  erect,  and 
strong  to  the  last.  All  his  life  a  lover  of  nature  and  an  advocate 
of  liberty,  he  stood  under  the  trees  in  the  beautiful  park  on  a 
bright  June  day,  and  paid  an  eloquent  tribute  to  a  devoted  ser- 
vant of  liberty  in  another  land.  And  while  his  words  yet  lingered 
in  the  ears  of  those  who  heard  him,  he  passed  from  human  sight. 

2.  There  is  probably  no  eminent  man  in  the  country  upon 
whose  life  and  genius  and  career  the  verdict  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens would  be  more  immediate  and  unanimous.     His  character 
and  life  had  a  simplicity  and  austerity  of  outline  that  had  become 
universally  familiar,  like  a  neighboring  mountain  or  the  sea.    His 
convictions  were  very  strong,  and  his  temper  uncompromising ; 
he  was  independent  beyond  most  Americans.    He  was  an  editor 
and  a  partisan  ;  but  he  held  politics  and  all  other  things  subor- 
dinate to  the  truth  and  the  common  welfare,  and  his  earnestness 
and  sincerity  and  freedom  from  selfish  ends  took  the  sting  of  per- 
sonality vfrom  his  opposition,  and  constantly  placated  all  who, 
like  him,  sought  lofty  and  virtuous  objects. 

3.  This  same  bent  of  nature  showed  itself  in  the  character  of 
his  verse.     His  poetry  is  intensely  and  distinctively  American. 
He  was  a  man  of  scholarly  accomplishment,  familiar  with  other 
languages  and  literature.     But  there  is  no  tone  or  taste  of  any- 
thing not  peculiarly  American  in  his  poetry.     It  is  as  character- 
istic as  the  wine  of  the  Catawba  grape,  and  could  have  been  writ- 
ten only  in  America  by  an  American  naturally  sensitive  to  what- 
ever is  most  distinctively  American. 

4.  Bryant's  fame  as  a  poet  was  made  half  a  century  before  he 
died,  and  the  additions  to  his  earlier  verse,  while  they  did  not 
lessen,  did  not  materially  increase,  his  reputation.    But  the  mark 
so  early  made  was  never  effaced,  either  by  himself  or  others. 
Younger  men  grew  by  his  side  into  great  and  just  fame.     But 
what  Shelley  says  of  love  is  as  true  of  renown  : 

"  True  love  in  this  differs  from  gold  and  clay, 
That  to  divide  is  not  to  take  away." 

delivery  of  an  oration  on  the  occasion  of  the  setting-up  of  a  statue  to  the  Ital- 
ian patriot  Mazzini  in  the  Central  Park,  N.  Y.  (June,  1878). 


410 


BRYANT. 


The  tone  of  Bryant  remained,  and  remained  distinct,  individual, 
and  unmistakable.  Nature,  as  he  said  in  Thanatopsis,  speaks  "  a 
various  language  "  to  her  lovers.  But  what  she  said  to  him  was 
plainly  spoken  and  clearly  heard  and  perfectly  repeated.  His 
art  was  exquisite.  It  was  absolutely  unsuspected,  but  it  served 
its  truest  purpose,  for  it  removed  every  obstruction  to  full  and 
complete  delivery  of  his  message. 

5.  He  was  reserved,  and  in  no  sense  magnetic  or  responsive. 
There  was  something  in  his  manner  of  the  New  England  hills 
among  which  he  was  born — a  little  stern  and  bleak  and  dry,  al- 
though suffused  with  the  tender  and  scentless  splendor  of  the 
white  laurel,  solemn  with  primeval  pines,  and  musical  with  the 
organ  soughs  of  the  wind  through  their  branches.  But  this  re- 
serve was  not  forbidding,  and  there  was  always  kindness  with  all 
the  dryness  of  his  manner.  Indeed,  his  manner  was  only  expres- 
sive of  that  independence  which  largely  made  him  what  he  was. 
He  stood  quietly  and  firmly  on  his  own  feet.  His  opinions  were 
his  own  conclusions,  and  he  made  no  compromises  to  save  his 
reputation  for  consistency,  or  to  secure  immunity  from  criticism, 
or  to  retain  the  sympathy  of  associates.  He,  too,  was  one  of  the 
men  who  are  able  to  go  alone,  and  who  can  say  No.  The  cob- 
webs of  sophistry  which  the  spiders  of  fear  and  ambition  in  a 
thousand  forms  "spin  around  the  plain  path  of  duty,  to  conceal  or 
to  deter,  he  so  unconsciously  and  surely  brushed  away  that  at 
last  it  came  to  be  understood  that  his  course  would  be  not  what 
his  party  expected  or  what  a  miscalled  consistency  required,  but 
simply  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  right  course. 


THAN  A  TO  PS  IS.  4 1  x 

I.— THANATOPSIS. 

[INTRODUCTION. — This  celebrated  production — the  best  known  of  American 
poems — was  written  by  Bryant  when  between  eighteen  and  nineteen  years  of 
age,  and  first  appeared  in  the  North  American  Review  for  1817.  The  word 
thanatopsis  (Greek  thanatos,  death,  and  apsis,  view)  signifies  a  view  of  death ; 
and  the  poem  is,  in  fact,  a  sweetly  solemn  meditation  on  the  thoughts  asso- 
ciated with  "  the  last  bitter  hour."  Prof.  Wilson  (Christopher  North)  charac- 
terizes it  as  "a  noble  example  of  true  poetical  enthusiasm,"  and  adds  that  "it 
alone  would  establish  the  author's  claim  to  the  honors  of  genius."  Thana- 
topsis, as  originally  published  in  the  North  American  JKeview,  comprised  only 
about  one  half  of  the  poem  as  we  know  it :  it  seems  to  have  grown  under  his 
hand  as  he  matured  ;  and  the  successive  editions  showed  numerous  slight  al- 
terations. In  the  Literary  Analysis  some  of  these  changes  are  indicated,  and 
the  comparison  of  readings  will  be  found  instructive.] 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  language  :  for  his  gayer  hours 

She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 

And  eloquence  of  beauty;  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 

And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 

Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall,* 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 

Make  thee  to  shudder  and  grow  sick  at  heart, 

Go  forth  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Is  the  poem  in  rhyme  or  blank  verse  ?  What  is  the 
measure  ? 

1.  To  him,  etc.     Is  the  structure  of  the  sentence  periodic  or  loose? 

2.  visible  forms.      Explain.  —  she  speaks.      What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
(See  Def.  22.) 

3.  A  Tarions  language.      Explain.      How  is  the   "various  language"  after- 
wards exemplified  ? 

7.  steals  away,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  (See  Def.  20.) 
8-22.  When  thoughts  .  . .  image.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  and 
rhetorically  ? — In  this  sentence  only  fifteen  words  are  of  other  than  Anglo- 
Saxon  origin  :  what  are  these  words  ? — Point  out  the  figures  of  speech  in  this 
sentence. — By  what  periphrasis  does  the  author  denote  death?  The  grave? 
Give  an  example  of  a  poetic  word-form. — What  is  the  most  striking  epithet 
in  this  sentence  ? 


4i2  BRYANT. 

To  nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around —  15 

Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air- 
Comes  a  still  voice  : — Yet  a  few  days  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  is  laid,  with  many  tears,  .          *> 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again ; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go  25 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould.  30 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone — nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world, — with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth, — the  wise,  the  good,  35 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun ;  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 20.  is  laid.     Originally  was  laid.     What  is  the  effect 
of  the  alteration  ? 

23.  Thy  growth.     Metonymy  or  synecdoche? — resolved.     Meaning? 

24.  lost  each  human  trace.    Grammatical  construction  ? — surrendering  up,  etc. 
To  what  word  is  this  adjective  phrase  an  adjunct  ? — Remark  on  the  expres- 
sion "surrendering  up." 

27.  a  brother.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     By  what  other  poets  is  it 
much  used? 

28.  What  word  in  this  line  belongs  to  the  diction  of  poetry? 

29.  share.     What  is  the  full  form  of  the  word  ? 

30.  his  roots.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? — mould.     Explain. 

31.  How  is  the  negation  rendered  very  emphatic? 
33-37-  Thou  shalt .  .  .  sepulchre.     Paraphrase. 

37-45.  The  hills  .  .  .  man.     Select  the  most  effective  epithets  in  this  sentence. 
Which  of  these  epithets  is  metaphorical? 


THAN  A  TOPSIS.  4  !  3 

The  venerable  woods ;  rivers  that  move  40 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun,  45 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 

The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 

That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings  50 

Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 

Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 

Save  his  own  dashings, — yet,  the  dead  are  there ; 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first  55 

The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 

In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 

Unheeded  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  !     All  that  breathe  ^ 

Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 44.  decorations.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
46.  the  infinite  host  of  heaven.    For  what  word  is  this  expression  a  periphra- 
sis ? 

49.  tribes.     Meaning  here  ? 

50.  51.  Take  the  wings  Of  morning.     Source  of  this  expression  ?     Render  in 
plain  language. 

51.  the  Barcan  desert  pierce.    Other  readings  are  "pierce  the  Barcan  wilder- 
ness" and  "traverse  Barca's  desert  sands."     Which  is  the  best  form  of  state- 
ment ?.    Give  reasons  for  your  opinion. 

52-54.  Or  lose  . .  .  dashings.  Observe  the  nobly  solemn  rhythm  of  this  pas- 
sage.— the  Oregon  is  another  name  for  the  Columbia  River.  Can  you  assign 
any  reason  for  the  choice  of  this  river  as  an  example  ? — What  words  convey  a 
vivid  conception  of  the  silence  of  a  primeval  forest  ? 

55-57.  And  millions .  .  .  alone.  In  this  passage  point  out  three  figurative  ex- 
pressions. 

58,  59.  if  thou  withdraw  Unheeded.  Other  readings  are  "  withdraw  In  silence 
from"  and  "if  thou  shalt  fall  Unnoticed." 


4i4  BRYANT. 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 

His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come  65 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 

Of  ages  glides  away,  the  sons  of  men, 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron,  and  maid, 

The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant  in  the  smiles  70 

And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off, 

Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 

By  those  who,  in  their  turn,  shall  follow  them. 

So  live  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 

The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves  75 

To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 

His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 

Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night 

Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 

By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave  8a 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 

About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 62.  the  solemn  brood  of  care.  What  is  the  figure  o: 
speech  ?  (See  Def.  28.)  Translate  into  a  literal  expression. 

66.  make  their  bed.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

67.  glides:  previously  written  by  the  poet  glide.     Which  is  the  better? 

68.  in  life's  green  spring.     Substitute  a  plain  expression.     Is  the  line  tauto- 
logical ? 

70,  71.  The  bowed  ...  off.  These  two  lines  are  a  substitute  for  the  original 
line — 

"And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man." 

There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  very  great  improvement  made  by  the  change. 
The  original  line  is  exceedingly  hackneyed. 

73-81.  So  li?e  .  .  .  dreams.  What  kind  of  sentence,  grammatically  and 
rhetorically,  is  this  passage? — The  whole  sentence  is  in  what  figure?  (See 
Def.  18.) — In  this  passage  point  out  a  metaphor.  A  metonymy.  A  simile. — 
Commit  this  passage  to  memory. 


THE  PLANTING   OF  THE  APPLE-TREE. 


II.— THE   PLANTING   OF   THE   APPLE-TREE. 


415 


1.  Come,  let  us  plant  the  apple-tree ! 
Cleave  the  tough  greensward  with  the  spade ; 
Wide  let  its  hollow  bed  be  made ; 

There  gently  lay  the  roots,  and  there 

Sift  the  dark  mould  with  kindly  care,  5 

And  press  it  o'er  them  tenderly, 
As  round  the  sleeping  infant's  feet 
We  softly  fold  the  cradle-sheet ; 

So  plant  we  the  apple-tree. 

2.  What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ?  10 
Buds,  which  the  breath  of  summer  days 

Shall  lengthen  into  leafy  sprays ; 

Boughs,  where  the  thrush  with  crimson  breast 

Shall  haunt  and  sing  and  hide  her  nest. 

We  plant  upon  the  sunny  lea  15 

A  shadow  for  the  noontide  hour, 
A  shelter  from  the  summer  shower, 

When  we  plant  the  apple-tree. 

3.  What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 

Sweets  for  a  hundred  flowery  springs  ac 

To  load  the  May-wind's  restless  wings, 
When  from  the  orchard-row  he  pours 
Its  fragrance  through  our  open  doors. 

A  world  of  blossoms  for  the  bee, 

Flowers  for  the  sick  girl's  silent  room,  25 

For  the  glad  infant  sprigs  of  bloom 

We  plant  with  the  apple-tree. 

4.  What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Fruits  that  shall  swell  in  sunny  June, 

And  redden  in  the  August  noon,  3° 

And  drop  when  gentle  airs  come  by 
That  fan  the  blue  September  sky, 

While  children,  wild  with  noisy  glee, 
Shall  scent  their  fragrance  as  they  pass 
And  search  for  them  the  tufted  grass  zs 

At  the  foot  of  the  apple-tree. 


416  BRYANT. 

5.  And  when  above  this  apple-tree 
The  winter  stars  are  quivering  bright, 
And  winds  go  howling  through  the  night, 

Girls  whose  young  eyes  o'erflow  with  mirth  4c 

Shall  peel  its  fruit  by  cottage-hearth ; 

And  guests  in  prouder  homes  shall  see, 
Heaped  with  the  orange  and  the  grape, 
As  fair  as  they  in  tint  and  shape, 

The  fruit  of  the  apple-tree.  45 

6.  The  fruitage  of  this  apple-tree 
Winds  and  our  flag  of  stripe  and  star 
Shall  bear  to  coasts  that  lie  afar, 
Where  men  shall  wonder  at  the  view 

And  ask  in  what  fair  groves  they  grew ;  5° 

And  they  who  roam  beyond  the  sea 
Shall  think  of  childhood's  careless  day 
And  long  hours  passed  in  summer  play 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree. 

7.  But  time  shall  waste  this  apple-tree.  55 
Oh  !  when  its  aged  branches  throw 

Their  shadows  on  the  world  below, 
Shall  fraud  and  force  and  iron  will 
Oppress  the  weak  and  helpless  still  ? 

What  shall  the  task  of  mercy  be  60 

Amid  the  toils,  the  strifes,  the  tears 
Of  those  who  live  when  length  of  years 

Is  wasting  this  apple-tree  ? 

8.  "  Who  planted  this  old  apple-tree  ?" 

The  children  of  that  distant  day  6$ 

Thus  to  some  aged  man  shall  say; 

And,  gazing  on  its  mossy  stem, 

The  gray-haired  man  shall  answer  them  : 

"  A  poet  of  the  land  was  he, 

Born  in  the  rude  but  good  old  times ;  70 

Tis  said  he  made  some  quaint  old  rhymes 

On  planting  the  apple-tree." 


XXVIII. 

THOMAS    CARLYLE. 

1795-1881. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL.1 

i.  Carlyle  is  an  author  who  has  now  been  so  long  before  the 
world  that  we  may  feel  towards  him  something  of  the  unpreju- 
dice  of  posterity.  It  has  long  been  evident  that  he  had  no  more 

1  From  Among  My  Books,  by  James  Russell  Lowell. 
27 


4l8  CARLYLE. 

ideas  to  bestow  upon  us,  and  that  no  new  turn  of  his  kaleidoscope 
would  give  us  anything  but  some  variation  of  arrangement  in  the 
brilliant  colors  of  his  style.  The  leading  characteristics  of  an 
author  who  is  in  any  sense  original — that  is  to  say,  who  does  not 
merely  reproduce,  but  modifies  the  influence  of  tradition,  culture, 
and  contemporary  thought  upon  himself  by  some  admixture  of 
his  own — may  commonly  be  traced  more  or  less  clearly  to  his 
earliest  works. 

2.  Everything  that  Carlyle  wrote  during  this  first  period  thrills 
with  the  purest  appreciation  of  whatever  is  brave  and  beautiful 
in  human  nature,  with  the  most  vehement  scorn  of  cowardly  com- 
promise with  things  base ;  and  yet,  immitigable  as  his  demand 
for  the  highest  in  us  seems  to  be,  there  is  always  something  re- 
assuring in  the  humorous  sympathy  with  mortal  frailty  which 
softens  condemnation  and  consoles  for  shortcoming. 

3.  By  degrees   the   humorous   element  in   his   nature   gains 
ground,  till  it  overmasters  all  the  rest.     Becoming  always  more 
boisterous  and  obtrusive,  it  ends  at  last,  as  such  humor  must, 
in  cynicism.     In  Sartor  Resartus  it  is  still  kindly,  still  infused 
with  sentiment ;  and  the  book,  with  its  mixture  of  indignation 
and  farce,  strikes   one   as   might  the  prophecies   of  Jeremiah 
if  the  marginal  comments  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sterne  in  his  wild- 
est mood  had  by  some  accident  been  incorporated  with  the 
text. 

4.  In  proportion  as  his  humor  gradually  overbalanced  the  oth- 
er qualities  of  his  mind,  Carlyle's  taste  for  the  eccentric,  amor- 
phous, and  violent  in  men  became  excessive,  disturbing  more 
and  more  his  perception  of  the  more  commonplace  attributes 
which  give  consistency  to  portraiture.     His  French  Revolution 
is  a  series  of  lurid  pictures,  unmatched  for  vehement  power,  in 
which  the  figures  of  such  sons  of  earth  as  Mirabeau  and  Dan- 
ton  loom  gigantic  and  terrible  as  in  the  glare  of  an  eruption, 
their  shadows  swaying  far   and  wide  grotesquely  awful.     But 
all  is  painted  by  eruption  -  flashes  in  violent  light  and  shade. 
There  are  no  half-tints,  no  gradations ;  and  we  find  it  impossible 
to  account  for  the  continuance  in  power  of  less  Titanic  actors  in 
the  tragedy  like  Robespierre  on  any  theory,  whether  of  human 
nature  or  of  individual  character,  supplied  by  Carlyle.     Of  his 
success,  however,  in  accomplishing  what  he  aimed  at,  which  was 


LOWELL'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  CARLYLE.        419 

to  haunt  the  mind  with  memories  of  a  horrible  political  night- 
mare, there  can  be  no  doubt. 

5.  Carlyle's  historical  compositions  are  wonderful  prose-poems, 
full  of  picture,  incident,  humor,  and  character,  where  we  grow  fa- 
miliar with  his  conception  of  certain  leading  personages,  and  even 
of  subordinate  ones,  if  they  are  necessary  to  the  scene,  so  that 
they  come  out  living  upon  the  stage  from  the  dreary  limbo  of 
names ;  but  this  is  no  more  history  than  the  historical  plays  of 
Shakespeare.    There  is  nothing  in  imaginative  literature  superior 
in  its  own  way  to  the  episode  of  Voltaire  in  the  History  of  Frederick 
the  Great.     It  is  delicious  in  humor,  masterly  in  minute  charac- 
terization.   We  feel  as  if  the  principal  victim  (for  we  cannot  help 
feeling  all  the  while  that  he  is  so)  of  this  mischievous  genius  had 
been  put  upon  the  theatre  before  us  by  some  perfect  mimic  like 
Foote,  who  had  studied  his  habitual  gait,  gestures,  tones,  turn 
of  thought,  costume,  trick  of  feature,  and  rendered  them  with 
the  slight  dash  of  caricature  needful  to  make  the  whole  compo- 
sition tell.     It  is  in  such  things  that  Carlyle  is  beyond  all  rival- 
ry, and  that  we  must  go  back  to  Shakespeare  for  a  comparison. 
But  the  mastery  of  Shakespeare  is  shown  perhaps  more  striking- 
ly in  his  treatment  of  the  ordinary  than  of  the  exceptional.    His 
is  the  gracious  equality  of  Nature  herself.     Carlyle's  gift  is  rath- 
er in  the  representation  than  in  the  evolution  of  character  ;  and 
it  is  a  necessity  of  his  art,  therefore,  to  exaggerate  slightly  his 
heroic,  and  to  caricature  in  like  manner  his  comic,  parts.     His 
appreciation  is  less  psychological  than  physical  and  external. 

6.  With  the  gift  of  song,  Carlyle  would  have  been  the  greatest  of 
epic  poets  since  Homer.    Without  it,  to  modulate  and  harmonize 
and  bring  parts  into  their  proper  relation,  he  is  the  most  amor- 
phous of  humorists,  the  most  shining  avatar  of  whim  the  world  has 
ever  seen.     Beginning  with  a  hearty  contempt  for  shams,  he  has 
come  at  length  to  believe  in  brute  force  as  the  only  reality,  and 
has  as  little  sense  of  justice  as  Thackeray  allowed  to  women.    We 
say  brute  force  because,  though  the  theory  is  that  this  force  should 
be  directed  by  the  supreme  intellect  for  the  time  being,  yet  all  in- 
ferior wits  are  treated  rather  as  obstacles  to  be  contemptuously 
shoved  aside  than  as  ancillary  forces  to  be  conciliated  through 
their  reason.     But,  with  all  deductions,  he  remains  the  profound- 
est  critic  and  the  most  dramatic  imagination  of  modern  times. 


420  CARLYLE. 


I.— THREE   LURID   PICTURES. 

[INTRODUCTION.— The  following  from  Carlyle's  greatest  work,  the  History 
of  the  French  Revolution,  presents  three  of  those  striking  sketches  of  charac- 
ter which  Lowell  (see  Characterization)  well  calls  "  lurid  pictures  :"  they  are 
the  portraits  of  Mirabeau,  Robespierre,  and  Dr.  Guillotin.  The  passage  oc- 
curs in  the  account  of  the  procession  of  the  deputies  to  the  States-General, 
May  4,  1789.  After  describing  the  sea  of  spectators  gathered  to  witness  the 
procession,  Carlyle  suddenly  breaks  off  with  "  We  dwell  no  longer  on  the 
mixed  shouting  Multitude ;  for  now,  behold,  the  Commons  Deputies  are  at 
hand."] 

i.  Which  of  these  Six  Hundred  individuals,  in  plain  white 
cravat,  that  have  come  up  to  regenerate  France,  might  one 


NOTES.— Line  I.  Six  Hundred  individu- 
als. The  deputies  of  the  Third 
Estate,  /'.  e.,  the  Commons — the 


first  estate,  or  order,  being  the 
nobility,  and  the  second  the 
clergy. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — The  most  characteristic  quality  of  Carlyle's  style  is 
energy.  Among  the  instrumentalities  he  wields  for  the  production  of  telling 
literary  effects  may  be  enumerated  a  vocabulary  of  immense  range  (includ- 
ing eccentric  verbal  coinages  and  daring  liberties  with  the  ordinary  forms  of 
speech) ;  an  original,  irregular,  and  rugged  structure  of  sentence  ;*  powerful 
similitudes  ;  bold  metaphors  ;  vivid  handling  of  abstractions  ;  choice  of  telling 
circumstances  ;  sensational  contrasts ;  and  habitual  exaggeration  of  language. 

1-3.  Which  .  .  .  king.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?  Interro- 
gation is  a  large  element  in  Carlyle's  mannerism.  It  is  not  merely  an  oc- 
casional means  of  special  emphasis  ;  it  is  an  habitual  mode  of  transition,  used 
by  Carlyle  almost  universally,  as  here,  for  the  vivid  introduction  of  new  agents 
and  events. — Point  out  other  instances  of  the  use  of  this  figure  in  paragraph  i. 

1  It  is  a  common  error  to  believe  that  Carlyle's  sentences  are  exceedingly 
involved  and  complicated — an  error  which  he  himself  shared;  for,  speaking  of 
himself  under  the  guise  of  Herr  Teufelsdroeckh,  he  says,  "  Of  his  sentences, 
perhaps  not  more  than  nine  tenths  stand  straight  on  their  legs ;  the  remainder 
are  in  quite  angular  attitudes,  buttressed  up  by  props  (of  parentheses  and 
dashes),  and  even  with  this  or  the  other  tag-rag  hanging  from  them,  a  few 
even  sprawl  out  helplessly  on  all  sides,  quite  broken-backed  and  dismember- 
ed." But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Carlyle's  sentences  are  extremely  simple  in  con- 
struction—"consisting,"  says  Minto,  "for  the  most  part,  of  two  or  three  co- 
ordinate statements,  or  of  a  short  statement  eked  out  by  explanatory  clauses 
either  in  apposition  or  in  the  nominative  absolute  construction."  The  distin- 
guishing mark  of  his  sentential  structure  is,  not  that  it  is  complicated,  but  that 
it  is  unconventional.  It  is  an  extravagant  antithesis  to  the  artificial,  balanced, 
periodic  structure  as  exemplified  in  Macaulay. 


THREE  LURID   PICTURES. 


421 


guess  would  become  their  king.     For  a  king  or  leader  they,  as 
all  bodies  of  men,  must  have  :  be  their  work  what  it  may,  there 
is  one  man  there  who,  by  character,  faculty,  position,  is  fittest  of  5 
all  to  do  it ;  that  man,  as  future  not  yet  elected  king,  walks  there 
among  the  rest.     He  with   the  thick  black  locks,  will  it  be  ? 
With  the  kure,  as  himself  calls  it,  or  black  boards-head^  fit  to  be 
"  shaken  "  as  a  senatorial  portent?    Through  whose  shaggy  bee- 
tle-brows, and  rough-hewn,  seamed,  carbuncled  face,  there  look  to 
natural  ugliness,  small-pox,  incontinence,  bankruptcy, — and  burn- 
ing fire  of  genius;  like  comet-fire  glaring  fuliginous*  through 
murkiest  confusions  ?    It  is  Gabriel  Honore  Riquetti  de  Mirabeau, 
the  world-compeller ;  man-ruling  Deputy  of  Aix  !     According  to 
the  Baroness  de  Stae'l,  he  steps  proudly  along,  though  looked  at  15 
askance*  here;  and  shakes  his  black  chevelure,  or  lion's-mane; 
as  if  prophetic  of  great  deeds. 


9.  portent,  something  which  portends 
or  foretokens,  especially  that 
which  portends  evil. 

12.  fuliginous,  as  through  smoke. 

13.  Mirabean    was    born   in    1749   and 

died  in  1791. 
15.  Baroness  de  Stael.  Madame  de  Stae'l, 


the  celebrated  author  of  Co* 
rinne,  etc.,  was  a  spectator  of  the 
procession,  and  gave  her  remi- 
niscences of  it  in  a  work  entitled 
Considerations  on  the  French 
Revolution. 
1 6.  chevelure  (Fr.),  hair. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 7.  He  ...  be!  Change  into  the  direct  order.  What 
did  the  author  wish  to  emphasize  ? 

8.  With,  etc.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

9-13.  Through  . . .  confusions!  Supply  the  ellipsis. — Point  out  the  most  vig- 
orous epithets  in  this  sentence.  Point  out  an  instance  of  personification. 

14.  world-compeller.    Perhaps  a  reminiscence  of  Homer's  "  cloud-compeller." 

15.  he  steps,  etc.     What  is  the  present  tense,  as  thus  employed,  called? 

17.  as  if  prophetic  of  great  deeds.  It  will  be  observed  that  this  clause  is 
separated  by  the  semicolon  from  the  preceding  member  ("and  shakes,"  etc.), 
with  which  it  is  logically  connected.  The  intention  seems  to  be,  by  an  abrupt 
pause,  to  suggest  iteration  or  apposition  :  it  is  as  though  the  passage  read  : 
"  and  shakes  his  black  chevelure,  or  lion's-mane  ;  [he  does  so]  as  if  prophetic 
of  great  deeds."  This  construction,  to  which  the  name  elliptical  iteration  may 
be  given,  is  a  favorite  one  with  Carlyle.  It  is  exemplified  in  this  same  para- 
graph (lines  n,  12)  "and  burning  fire  of  genius  ;  like  comet-fire,"  etc.,  where, 
supplying  the  ellipsis,  we  see  the  iterative,  or  appositive,  construction:  "and 
burning  fire  of  genius  ;  [fire  of  genius]  like  comet-fire,"  etc. 


422  CARLYLE. 

2.  Yes,  Reader,  that  is  the  Type- Frenchman  of  this  epoch  :  as 
Voltaire  was  of  the  last.     He  is  French  in  his  aspirations,  ac- 
quisitions, in  his  virtues,  in  his  vices ;  perhaps  more  French  than  20 
any  other  man  ; — and  intrinsically  such  a  mass  of  manhood  too. 
Mark  him  well.     The  National  Assembly  were  all  different  with- 
out that  one ;  nay,  he  might  say  with  the  old   Despot :  "  The 
National  Assembly?     I  am  that." 

3.  Of  a  southern  climate,  of  wild  southern  blood :  for  the  Ri-  25 
quettis,  or  Arrighettis,  had  to  fly  from  Florence  and  the  Guelfs, 
long  centuries  ago,  and  settled  in  Provence ;  where  from  gener- 
ation to  generation  they  have  ever  approved  themselves  a  pecul- 
iar kindred :  irascible,  indomitable,  sharp-cutting,  true,  like  the 
steel  they  wore ;  of  an  intensity  and  activity  that  sometimes  30 
verged  towards  madness,  yet  did  not  reach  it.     One  ancient  Ri- 
quetti,  in  mad  fulfilment  of  a  mad  vow,  chains  two  Mountains  to- 
gether ;  and  the  chain,  with  its  "  iron  star  of  five  rays,"  is  still  to 
be  seen.     May  not  a  modern  Riquetti  unchain  so  much,  and  set 

it  drifting, — which  also  shall  be  seen  ?  35 


23.  old    Despot.       Louis    XIV.,  who,  I  26.  the  Guelfs.    One  of  the  two  parties 


when  some  courtier  spoke  of 
the  State,  replied,  "  The  State  ? 
/  am  the  State "  (Uetat  Sest 
mot}. 


(the  other  being  the  Ghibel- 
Hnes)  between  whom  Italian 
politics  were  long  divided  dur- 
ing the  Middle  Ages. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 18-24.  Yes . . .  that.  In  paragraph  2  point  out  two 
examples  of  elliptical  iteration. 

19,  20.  in  his . . .  rices.  Carlyle's  departure  from  the  conventional  arrange- 
ment of  words  is  illustrated  in  a  small  way  in  this  succession  of  phrases,  the 
usual  literary  arrangement  of  which  would  be  as  follows  :  "in  his  aspirations 
and  in  his  acquisitions,  in  his  virtues  and  in  his  vices.7' 

22.  irere.     Equivalent  to  what  fuller  form  ? 

25.  Of  a  ...  blood.  Grammatical  construction  ? — Supply  the  ellipsis,  which 
is  here  almost  too  great  to  be  allowable. 

30.  steel.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  2».)  —  of  an  intensity, 
etc.  To  what  word  is  this  an  adjunct  ? 

3r~35-  One  ancient . .  .  seen.  Point  out  the  antithetical  words. — The  clause 
"which  also  shall  be  seen,"  as  here  introduced,  is  a  very  characteristic  Car- 
lylean  touch. 


THREE  LURID  PICTURES. 


423 


4.  Destiny  has  work  for  that  swart  burly-headed  Mirabeau ; 
Destiny  has  watched  over  him,  prepared  him  from  afar.     Did 
not  his  Grandfather,  stout  Col  d' Argent  (Silver-Stock,  so  they 
named  him),  shattered  and  slashed  by  seven-and-twenty  wounds 
in  one  fell   day,  lie  sunk  together  on   the   Bridge   at  Casano ;  40 
while  Prince  Eugene's  cavalry  galloped   and  regalloped   over 
him, — only  the  flying  sergeant  had  thrown  a  camp-kettle  over 
that  loved  head ;  and  Vendome,  dropping  his  spy-glass,  moaned 
out,  "  Mirabeau  is  dead,  then !"     Nevertheless  he  was  not  dead; 
he  awoke  to  breath,  and  miraculous  surgery ; — for  Gabriel  was  45 
yet  to  be.     With  his  silver  stock  he  kept  his  scarred  head  erect, 
through  long  years  ;  and  wedded  ;  and  produced  tough  Marquis 
Victor,  the  Friend  of  Men.     Whereby  at  last  in  the  appointed 
year  1749,  this  long-expected  rough-hewn  Gabriel  Honore  did 
likewise  see  the  light :  roughest  lion's  whelp  ever  littered  of  that  50 
rough  breed.     How  the  old  lion  (for  our  old  Marquis  too  was 
lionlike,  most  unconquerable,  kingly-genial,  most  perverse)  gazed 
wondering  on  his  offspring ;  and  determined  to  train  him  as  no 
lion  had  yet  been  !     It  is  in  vain,  O  Marquis  !    This  cub,  though 
thou  slay  him  and  flay  him,  will  not  learn  to  draw  in  dogcart  of  55 
Political  Economy,  and  be  a  Friend  of  Men  ;  he  will  not  be  Thou, 
but  must  and  will  be  Himself,  another  than  Thou.    Divorce  law- 
suits, "  whole  family  save  one  in  prison,  and  three-score  Lettres- 
de-Cachet"  for  thy  own  sole  use,  do  but  astonish  the  world. 

5.  Our  luckless  Gabriel,  sinned  against  and  sinning,  has  been  60 


48.  the  Friend  of  Men.  Mirabeau's 
father  was  author  of  a  work 
entitled  The  Friend  of  Men 
(L'Ami  des  Hommes). 

58,  59.  Lettres-de-Cachet.  These  were  a 
kind  of  warrant  formerly  in  use 
in  France.  They  were  issued 


upon  the  royal  authority  alone 
(not  in  pursuance  of  any  judg- 
ment of  a  court),  and  were  used 
for  ordering  persons  to  quit 
Paris  or  France,  or  to  be  ar- 
rested and  imprisoned.  They 
were  often  made  out  in  blank. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 36-59.  In  paragraph  4  point  out  an  example  of 
personification  ;  of  interrogation  ;  of  exclamation  ;  of  elliptical  iteration  ;  of 
metaphor ;  of  apostrophe.  Point  out  all  the  names  and  epithets  applied  to 
Mirabeau. 

60.  sinned  against  and  sinning.     Compare  Shakespeare  : 

"I  am  a  man  more  sinned  against  than  sinning." 

60-62.  Our . . .  Marseilles.  In  this  sentence  point  out  two  instances  of  the 
choice  of  telling  circumstances. 


424 


CARL  YLE. 


in  the  Isle  of  Rbie*,  and  heard  the  Atlantic  from  his  tower;  in 
the  Castle  of  If,  and  heard  the  Mediterranean  at  Marseilles. 
He  has  been  in  the  Fortress  of  Joux;  and  forty-two  months, 
with  hardly  clothing  to  his  back,  in  the  Dungeon  of  Vincennes  ; 
— all  by  Lettre-de-Cachet,  from  his  lion  father.     He  has  been  in  65 
Pontarlier  Jails  (self-constituted  prisoner) ;  was  noticed  fording 
estuaries  of  the  sea  (at  low  water),  in  flight  from  the  face  of 
men.     He  has  pleaded  before  Aix  Parlements  (to  get  back  his 
wife) ;  the  public  gathering  on  roofs,  to  see  since  they  could  not 
hear :  "  the  clatter-teeth  (claquedenf) !"  snarls  singular  old  Mira-  7° 
beau ;  discerning  in  such  admired  forensic  eloquence  nothing  , 
but  two  clattering  jaw-bones,  and  a  head  vacant,  sonorous,  of 
the  drum  species. 

6.  But  as  for  Gabriel  Honore,  in  these  strange  wayfarings, 
what  has  he  not  seen  and  tried  !     From  drill-sergeants,  to  prime  75 
ministers,  to  foreign  and  domestic  booksellers,  all  manner  of  men 
he  has  seen.     All  manner  of  men  he  has  gained ;  for  at  bot- 
tom it  is  a  social,  loving  heart,  that  wild  unconquerable  one  : — 
more   especially   all   manner   of  women.     From   the   Archer's 
Daughter  at  Saintes  to  that  fair  young  Sophie  Madame  Mon-  80 
nier,  whom  he  could  not  but  "  steal,"  and  be  beheaded  for — in 
effigy !     For  indeed  hardly  since  the  Arabian  Prophet  lay  dead 
on  the  battle-field  to  Ali's  admiration,  was  there  seen  such  a 
Love-hero,  with  the  strength  of  thirty  men.     In  War,  again,  he 
has  helped  to  conquer  Corsica ;  fought  duels,  irregular  brawls ;  85 
horsewhipped  calumnious  barons.     In  Literature,  he  has  written 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 65-73.  He  has ...  species.  In  what  respects  does 
this  passage  illustrate  what  Carlyle  himself  says  respecting  the  structure  of 
his  sentences  ?  (See  page  420,  note.) 

72,  73.  vacant,  sonorous,  of  the  drum  species.  Which  one  of  these  epithets 
sums  up  the  other  two  ? — Observe  the  asyndeton. 

74,  75.  But .  . .  tried !     What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ? 

75-77.  From  .  .  .  seen.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ? 

77.  All ...  gained.     Remark  on  the  order  of  words. 

77,  78.  for  ...  one.  Remove  the  pleonasm  and  change  to  the  ordinary  mode 
of  expression. 

79.  more  . . .  women.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

79-82.  From.  . .  effigy!  Supply  the  ellipsis. — Is  it  proper  to  put  into  the 
form  of  a  sentence  what  is  the  mere  fragment  of  a  sentence  ? 

82-84.  For ...  men.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ? 


THREE  LURID  PICTURES. 


425 


on  Despotism,  on  Lettres-de-Cachet :   Erotics  Sapphic-Werterean, 
Obscenities,  Profanities ;  Books  on  the  Prussian  Monarchy,  on 
Cagliostro,  on  Calonne,  on  the  Water  Companies  of  Paris : — each 
Book  comparable,  we  will  say,  to  a  bituminous  alarum-fire  ;  huge,  90 
smoky,  sudden  !     The  firepan,  the  kindling,  the  bitumen  were 
his  own ;  but  the  lumber,  of  rags,  old  wood  and  nameless  com- 
bustible rubbish  (for  all  is  fuel  to  him),  was  gathered  from  huck- 
sters, and   ass -panniers,   of   every   description   under   heaven. 
Whereby,  indeed,  hucksters  enough  have  been  heard  to  exclaim :  95 
Out  upon  it,  the  fire  is  mine  ! 

7.  Nay,  consider  it  more  generally,  seldom  had  man  such  a 
talent  for  borrowing.  The  idea,  the  faculty  of  another  man  he 
can  make  his ;  the  man  himself  he  can  make  his.  "  All  reflex 
and  echo  (tout  de  reflet  et  de  reverbere) !"  snarls  old  Mirabeau,  «» 
who  can  see,  but  will  not.  Crabbed  old  Friend  of  Men !  it  is 
his  sociality,  his  aggregative  nature ;  and  will  now  be  the  quality 
of  qualities  for  him.  In  that  forty  years'  "  struggle  against  des- 
potism," he  has  gained  the  glorious  faculty  of  self-help,  and  yet 
not  lost  the  glorious  natural  gift  of  fellowship,  of  being  helped.  105 
Rare  union :  this  man  can  live  self-sufficing — yet  lives  also  in  the 
life  of  other  men ;  can  make  men  love  him,  work  with  him ;  a 
born  king  of  men ! 


87.  Sapphic- Werterean.  This  truly  Car- 
lylean  adjective  is  derived  from 
the  names  Sappho,  the  poetess 


of  love,  and  Werter,  the  hero  in 
Goethe's  romance  of  The  Sor- 
rows of  Werter. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  89-91.  each  . . .  sudden!  A  thoroughly  Carlylean 
passage. — a  bituminous  alarum-fire.  Explain. — Point  out  an  instance  of  ellipti- 
cal iteration. 

91-94.  The  firepan  . .  .  heaven.  By  what  figurative  expressions  does  the  au- 
thor denote,  on  the  one  hand,  Mirabeau's  inspiration — his  quickening  faculty 
— and,  on  the  other,  the  mere  facts  and  material  of  which  he  made  use  in  com- 
posing his  works  ? 

98,  99.  The  idea  . .  .  his.  Transpose  into  the  direct  order.  What  effect 
does  the  author  gain  by  the  arrangement  of  words  adopted  ? 

103-105.  In  ...  helped.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?    (See  Def.  18.) 

106-108.  Bare.  .  .men!  Supplying  ellipsis  and  turning  into  the  ordinary 
literary  form,  this  sentence  would  appear  thus :  "  This  man  presents  a  rare 
union  of  qualities :  he  can  live  self-sufficing ;  yet  he  lives  also  in  the  life  of 
other  men,  whom  he  can  make  love  him  and  work  with  him.  He  is  a  born 
king  of  men." 


426  CARLYLE. 

8.  But  consider  further  how,  as  the  old  Marquis  still  snarls,  he 
has  "  made  away  with  (hume,  swallowed)  all  Formulas  /" — a  fact  no 
which,  if  we  meditate  it,  will  in  these  days  mean  much.     This  is 
no  man  of  system,  then ;  he  is  only  a  man  of  instincts  and  in- 
sights.     A  man  nevertheless  who  will  glare  fiercely  on  any  ob- 
ject ;  and  see  through  it,  and  conquer  it :  for  he  has  intellect, 
he  has  will,  force  beyond  other  men.     A  man  not  with  logic-spec- 115 
tacles ;  but  with  an  eye!    Unhappily  without  Decalogue,  moral 
Code  or  Theorem  of  any  fixed  sort;  yet  not  without  a  strong 
living  Soul  in  him,  and  Sincerity  there :  a  Reality,  not  an  Arti- 
ficiality, not  a  Sham  !     And  so  he,  having  struggled  "  forty  years 
against  despotism,"  and  "  made  away  with  all  formulas,"  shall  120 
now  become  the  spokesman  of  a  Nation  bent  to  do  the  same. 
For  is  it  not  precisely  the  struggle  of  France  also  to  cast  off 
despotism  ;  to  make  away  with  her  old  formulas, — having  found 
them  naught,  worn  out,  far  from  the  reality  ?     She  will   make 
away  with  such  formulas  ; — and  even  go  bare,  if  need  be,  till  she  125 
have  found  new  ones. 

9.  Towards  such  work,  in  such  manner,  marches  he,  this  sin- 
gular Riquetti  Mirabeau.      In  fiery   rough   figure,  with   black 
Samson-locks  under  the  slouch-hat,  he  steps  along  there.      A 
fiery  fuliginous  mass,  which  could  not  be  choked  and  smothered,  i30 
but  would  fill  all  France  with  smoke.     And  now  it  has  got  air ; 

it  will  burn  its  whole  substance,  its  whole  smoke-atmosphere  too, 
and  fill  all  France  with  flame.  Strange  lot !  Forty  years  of  that 
smouldering,  with  foul  fire-damp  and  vapor  enough ;  then  vic- 
tory over  that ; — and  like  a  burning  mountain  he  blazes  heaven- 135 
high ;  and  for  twenty-three  resplendent  months,  pours  out,  in 
flame  and  molten  fire-torrents,  all  that  is  in  him,  the  Pharos  and 
Wonder-sign  of  an  amazed  Europe; — and  then  lies  hollow,  cold 


137.  Pharos.    A  light-house  or  beacon  ;  I  ancient  light-house  on  the  island 

from  Pharos,  the  name  of  an  |  of  Pharos,  near  Alexandria. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — no.  a  fact.  etc.     Grammatical  construction? 
113-115.  A  man  . . .  men.     Supply  the  grammatical  subject  and  predicate. 
115,  1 1 6.  A  man  ...  eye!     Point  out  the  antithesis. 

127-141.  In  paragraph  9  point  out  an  example  of  pleonasm ;    of  a  period ; 
of  metaphor ;  of  emphatic  epithets. 


THREE  LURID  PICTURES.  427 

forever !      Pass    on,   thou    questionable    Gabriel    Honore,  the 
greatest  of  them  all :  in  the  whole  National  Deputies,  in  the  HO 
whole  Nation,  there  is  none  like  and  none  second  to  thee. 

10.  But  now  if  Mirabeau  is  the  greatest,  who  of  these  Six  Hun- 
dred may  be  the  meanest  ?     Shall  we  say,  that  anxious,  slight, 
ineffectual-looking  man,  under  thirty,  in    spectacles ;   his   eyes 
(were   the   glasses   off)  troubled,  careful ;  with   upturned   face,  us 
snuffing  dimly  the  uncertain  future  time ;   complexion  of  a  mul- 
tiplex atrabiliar*  color,  the  final  shade  of  which  may  be  the  pale 
sea-green.     That  greenish-colored  (verdatre)  individual  is  an  Ad- 
vocate of  Arras ;  his  name  is  Maximilien  Robespierre.     The  son 
of  an  Advocate ;  his  father  founded  mason-lodges  under  Charles  150 
Edward,  the  English  Prince  or  Pretender.     Maximilien  the  first- 
born was  thriftily  educated;  he  had  brisk  Camille  Desmoulins 
for  schoolmate  in  the  College  of  Louis  le  Grand,  at  Paris.     But 
he  begged  our  famed  Necklace-Cardinal,  Rohan,  the  patron,  to 
let  him  depart  thence,  and  resign  in  favor  of  a  younger  brother.  155 
The  strict-minded  Max  departed ;  home  to  paternal  Arras ;  and 
even  had  a  Law-case  there  and  pleaded,  not  unsuccessfully,  "  in 
favor  of  the  first  Franklin  thunder-rod."     With  a  strict  painful 
mind,  an  understanding  small  but  clear  and  ready,  he  grew  in 
favor  with  official  persons,  who  could  foresee  in  him  an  excellent  160 
man  of  business,  happily  quite  free  from  genius.     The  Bishop, 
therefore,  taking  counsel,  appoints  him  Judge  of  his  diocese ; 
and  he  faithfully  does  justice  to  the  people  :  till  behold,  one  day, 
a  culprit  comes  whose  crime  merits  hanging ;   and  the  strict- 
minded  Max  must  abdicate,  for  his  conscience  will  not  permit  165 
the  dooming  of  any  son  of  Adam  to  die.    A  strict-minded,  strait- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 142,  143.  But .  .  .  meanest?  What  kind  of  sentence, 
grammatically  and  rhetorically? — may  be.  Note  the  softened  form,  in  place 
of  is. 

143-148.  Shall .  .  .  sea-green.     Effect  of  the  interrogative  form  ? 

149.  The  son,  etc.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

158-161.  With.  ,.  genius.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? — painful. 
Explain. 

161-166.  The  Bishop  .  . .  die.  Analyze  this  sentence. — Point  out  examples 
of  the  historical  present. 

166,  167.  A  ...  man  I    What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ? 


42g  CARLYLE. 

laced  man  !  A  man  unfit  for  Revolutions  ?  Whose  small  soul, 
transparent  wholesome-looking  as  small-ale,  could  by  no  chance 
ferment  into  virulent  alegar, — the  mother  of  ever  new  alegar ;  till 
all  France  were  grown  acetous  virulent  ?  We  shall  see.  170 

ii.  And  worthy  Doctor  Guillotin,  whom  we  hoped  to  behold 
one  other  time  ?  If  not  here,  the  Doctor  should  be  here,  and  we 
see  him  with  the  eye  of  prophecy :  for  indeed  the  Parisian  Dep- 
uties are  all  a  little  late.  Singular  Guillotin,  respectable  prac- 
titioner ;  doomed  by  a  satiric  destiny  to  the  strangest  immortal  175 
glory  that  ever  kept  obscure  mortal  from  his  resting-place,  the 
bosom  of  oblivion  !  Guillotin  can  improve  the  ventilation  of  the 
Hall ;  in  all  cases  of  medical  police  and  hygiene  be  a  present 
aid  :  but,  greater  far,  he  can  produce  his  "  Report  on  the  Penal 
Code ;"  and  reveal  therein  a  cunningly  devised  Beheading  Ma-  iSo 
chine,  which  shall  become  famous  and  world-famous.  This  is 
the  product  of  Guillotin's  endeavors,  gained  not  without  medita- 
tion and  reading ;  which  product  popular  gratitu  e  or  levity 
christens  by  a  feminine  derivative  name,  as  if  it  were  his  daugh- 
ter :  La  Guillotine!  "  With  my  machine,  Messieurs,  I  whisk  off  185 
your  head  (vous  fats  sauter  la  t$te)  in  a  twinkling,  and  you  have 
no  pain  ;"  —  whereat  they  all  laugh.  Unfortunate  Doctor  ! 
For  two-and-twenty  years  he,  unguillotined,  shall  hear  nothing 
but  guillotine,  see  nothing  but  guillotine ;  then  dying,  shall 
through  long  centuries  wander,  as  it  were,  a  disconsolate  ghost,  190 
on  the  wrong  side  of  Styx  and  Lethe ;  his  name  like  to  outlive 
Caesar's. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 167-170.  Whose . . .  Tirulent?    Point  out  the  figura- 
tive expressions. 

171-192.  And  worthy  . . .  Cesar's.     Supply  all  the  ellipses  in  paragraph  n. 


XXIX. 

THOMAS    B.  MACAULAY 

1800-1859. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  E.  A.  FREEMAN. 

i.  Macaulay  is  a  model  of  style — of  style  not  merely  as  a  kind 
of  literary  luxury,  but  of  style  in  its  practical  aspect.  When  I 
say  he  is  a  model  of  style,  I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  wise  in  any 
writer  to  copy  Macaulay's  style — to  try  to  write  something  that 


43o  MAC 'A  UL  AY. 

might  be  mistaken  for  Macaulay's  writing.  So  to  do  is  not  to 
follow  in  the  steps  of  a  great  writer,  but  merely  to  imitate  his 
outward  manner.  So  to  do  is  not  the  part  of  a  disciple,  but  the 
part  of  an  ape.  But  every  one  who  wishes  to  write  clear  and 
pure  English  will  do  well  to  become,  noi;  Macaulay's  ape,  but 
Macaulay's  disciple.  Every  writer  of  English  will  do  well  not  . 
only  to  study  Macaulay's  writings,  but  to  bear  them  in  his  mind; 
and  very  often  to  ask  himself  not  whether  his  writing  is  like 
Macaulay's  writing,  but  whether  his  writing  is  such  as  Macaulay 
would  have  approved. 

2.  I  know  at  least  what  my  own  experience  is.     It  is  for  others 
to  judge  whether  I  have  learned  of  Macaulay  the  art  of  being 
clear;  I  at  least  learned  of  Macaulay  the  duty  of  trying  to  be 
clear.     And  I  learned  that  in  order  to  be  clear  there  were  two 
main  rules  to  be  followed.     I  learned  from  Macaulay  that  if  I 
wished  to  be  understood  by  others,  or  indeed  by  myself,  I  must 
avoid,  not  always  long  sentences — for  long  sentences  may  often 
be  perfectly  clear — but  involved,  complicated,  parenthetical  sen- 
tences.    I  learned  that  I  must  avoid   sentences  crowded  with 
relatives  and  participles ;  sentences  in  which  things  are  not  so 
much  directly  stated  as  implied  in  some  dark  and  puzzling  fash- 
ion.    I  learned,  also,  never  to  be  afraid  of  using  the  same  word 
or  name  over  and  over  again,  if  by  that  means  anything  could  be 
added  to  clearness  or  force.    Macaulay  never  goes  on,  like  some 
writers,  talking  about  "the  former"  and  "the  latter,"  "he,  she, 
it,  they,"  through  clause  after  clause,  while  his  reader  has  to  look 
back  to  see  which  of  several  persons  it  is  that  is  so  darkly  re- 
ferred to.     No  doubt  a  pronoun,  like  any  other  word,  may  often 
be  repeated  with  advantage,  if  it  is  perfectly  clear  \vho  is  meant 
by  the  noun.     And  with  Macaulay's  pronouns  it  is  always  per- 
fectly clear  who  is  meant  by  them. 

3.  Then  as  to  his  choice  of  words.     Here  and  there  I  myself 
might  perhaps  think  that  a  Romance  word  might  well  be  changed 
for  a  Teutonic  word.     Certainly  no  one  can  charge  Macaulay 
with  what  is  called  pedantry  or  purism,  in  a  Teutonic  direction, 
or  in  any  direction.     Still,  where  I  might  wish  to  change  one 
word  in  Macaulay,  I  might  wish  to  change  ten  or  a  hundred  in 
most  other  writers.    Macaulay  never  uses  a  word  which,  whatever 
might  be  its  origin,  had  not  really  taken  root  in  the  language. 


FREEMAN'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  MACAULAY.     43 1 

He  has  no  vulgarisms,  no  newfangled  or  affected  expressions. 
No  man  was  ever  so  clear  from  the  vice  of  thrusting  in  foreign 
words  into  an  English  sentence. 

4.  In  short,  Macaulay  never  allows  himself  for  a  moment  to 
be  careless,  vulgar,  or  slipshod.     Every  person  and  every  thing 
is  called  by  the  right  name,  and  no  other.     And  because  he  did 
all  this,  because  he  wrote  such  clear  and  well-chosen  English 
that  the  printer's  reader  himself  never  had  to  read  his  sentences 
twice  over,  therefore  men  who  cannot  write  as  he  could  talk 
glibly  of  his  "mannerism  "  and  so  forth.    Everybody,  I  suppose, 
must  have  some  manner.     Lord  Macaulay  had  a  good  manner, 
and  not  a  bad  one,  and  therefore  he  is  found  fault  with. 

5.  Without,  therefore,  recommending  any  one  to  imitate  Ma- 
caulay's  manner,  or  the  manner  of  any  one,  I  do  say  that  in  all 
this  Macaulay  has  left  to  every  writer  of  English  an  example 
which  every  writer  of  English  will  do  well  to  follow.     The  care 
which  Macaulay  took  to  write,  before  all  things,  good  and  clear 
English  may  be  followed  by  writers  who  make  no  attempt  to  imi- 
tate his  style,  and  who  may -be  led  by  nature  to  some  quite  differ 
ent  style  of  their  own.     Many  styles  which  are  quite  unlike  one 
another  may  all  be  equally  good ;  but  no  style  can  be  good 
which  does  not  use  pure  and  straightforward  English.     No  style 
can  be  good  where  the  reader  has  to  read  a  sentence  twice  over 
to  find  out  its  meaning.    In  these  ways  the  writings  of  Macaulay 
may  be  a  direct  model  to  writers  and  speakers  whose  natural 
taste,  whose  subject,  or  whose  audience  may  lead  them  to  a  style 
quite  unlike  his.    In  every  language  and  in  every  kind  of  writing 
purity  of  speech  and  clearness  of  expression  must  be  the  first 
virtues  of  all. 


432 


MACAU  LAY. 


THE   PURITANS. 

•  [INTRODUCTION. — The  following  sketch  of  the  Puritans  is  from  Macaulay's 
brilliant  paper  on  Milton,  first  published  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  for  1825. 
In  his  maturer  years  Macaulay  thought  lightly  of  this  essay,  and  spoke  of  it 
as  "overloaded  with  gaudy  and  ungraceful  ornament."  But  this  stricture  is 
less  applicable  to  the  present  passage  than  to  other  parts  of  the  paper.  And 
though  it  bears  the  marks  of  youth  (the  essay  was  written  when  the  author 
was  fresh  from  college),  it  affords  an  excellent  study  in  some  of  the  most 
salient  characteristics  of  Macaulay's  style.] 

i.  We  would  speak  first  of  the  Puritans,  the  most  remarkable 
body  of  men,  perhaps,  which  the  world  has  ever  produced.  The 
odious  and  ridiculous  parts  of  their  character  lie  on  the  surface. 
He  that  runs  may  read  them ;  nor  have  there  been  wanting  at- 
tentive and  malicious  observers  to  point  them  out.  For  many 
years  after  the  Restoration,  they  were  the  theme  of  unmeasured 
invective  and  derision.  They  were  exposed  to  the  utmost  licen- 
tiousness of  the  press  and  of  the  stage,  at  the  time  when  the 
press  and  the  stage  were  most  licentious.  They  were  not  men 
of  letters ;  they  were  as  a  body  unpopular;  they  could  not  defend 
themselves ;  and  the  public  would  not  take  them  under  its  pro- 
tection. They  were  therefore  abandoned,  without  reserve,  to  the 


NOTES. — Line  I.  Puritans.  The  name 
Puritan  (from  pure]  arose  in  the 
time  of  Queen  Elizabeth  as  a 
designation  of  reproach  (or  nick- 
name) for  those  who  opposed 
traditional  and  formal  usages 
in  religion,  and  advocated  a 


simpler  form  of  faith  and  wor- 
ship than  that  which  was  es- 
tablished by  law. 

6.  the  Restoration  :  that  is,  the  resto- 
ration of  the  House  of  Stuart 
in  the  person  of  Charles  II., 
1660. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — Macaulay  makes  frequent  use  of  a  rhetorical  instru- 
ment technically  known  as  "obverse  statement :"  that  is,  denying  the  negative 
before  affirming  the  positive,  stating  first  what  a  person  is  not  and  then  stat- 
ing what  he  is. — Point  out  examples  of  this  in  paragraphs  I  and  2. 

1-22.  We  ...  writers.  In  paragraph  i  how  many  sentences  are  there  ?  To 
what  type,  rhetorically,  do  all  these  sentences  belong?  Are  they  generally 
long,  or  are  they  generally  short  ? — Mr.  Freeman  states  (see  Characterization) 
that  "  with  Macaulay's  pronouns  it  is  always  perfectly  clear  who  is  meant  by 
them."  This  is  undoubtedly  a  marked  excellence  of  Macaulay's  writing  ;  but 
in  paragraph  i  point  out  an  instance  of  a  pronoun  (3d  pers.  plural)  used  am- 
biguously. 


THE  PURITANS. 


433 


tender  mercies  of  the  satirists  and  dramatists.    The  ostentatious 
simplicity  of  their  dress,  their  sour  aspect,  their  nasal  twang,  their 
stiff  posture,  their  long  graces,  their  Hebrew  names,  the  scrip- 15 
tural  phrases  which  they  introduced  on  every  occasion,  their  con- 
tempt of  human  learning,  their  detestation  of  polite  amusements, 
were  indeed  fair  game  for  the  laughers.     But  it  is  not  from  the 
laughers  alone  that  the  philosophy  of  history  is  to  be  learned. 
And  he  who  approaches   this  subject  should   carefully  guard  20 
against  the  influence  of  that  potent  ridicule  which  has  already 
misled  so  many  excellent  writers. 

2.  Those  who  roused  the  people  to  resistance,  who  directed 
their  measures  through  a  long  series  of  eventful  years,  who 
formed,  out  of  the  most  unpromising  materials,  the  finest  army  25 
that  Europe  had  ever  seen,  who  trampled  down  king,  Church,  and 
aristocracy,  who,  in  the  short  intervals  of  domestic  sedition  and 
rebellion,  made  the  name  of  England  terrible  to  every  nation  on 
the  face  of  the  earth,  were  no  vulgar  fanatics.*  Most  of  their  ab- 
surdities were  mere  external  badges,  like  the  signs  of  freemason-  3° 
ry,  or  the  dresses  of  friars.  We  regret  that  these  badges  were 
not  more  attractive.  We  regret  that  a  body  to  whose  courage 
and  talents  mankind  has  owed  inestimable  obligations  had  not 
the  lofty  elegance  which  distinguished  some  of  the  adherents  of 
Charles  I.,  or  the  easy  good -breeding  for  which  the  court  of  35 
Charles  II.  was  celebrated.  But,  if  we  must  make  our  choice, 
we  shall,  like  Bassanio  in  the  play,  turn  from  the  specious  caskets, 
which  contain  only  the  death's  head  and  the  fool's  head,  and 


37.  Bassanio  in  the  play.      See    Shakespeare's    Merchant  of  Venice,  act   iii., 
scene  2. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 23-29.  Those .  .  .  fanatics.  What  is  the  figure  of 
speech  ?  (See  Def.  88.)— What  is  the  grammatical  subject  of  "were  ?"— By 
how  many  adjuncts  and  of  what  kind  is  it  modified  ? — Give  the  derivation  of 
"fanatics." 

31-40.  Wo  regret . .  .  treasure.  Macaulay  often  erects  into  separate  sentences 
propositions  which  other  writers  would  introduce  as  members  or  clauses  of  a 
single  sentence.  This  manner  of  writing  (called  the  style  coupt}  is  illustrated 
in  these  three  sentences,  which  the  pupil  may  rewrite  as  one  sentence. — Ex- 
plain the  allusion  in  the  last  sentence. 

28 


MA  CAUL  AY. 

fix  our  choice  on   the  plain  leaden  chest  which   conceals  the 
treasure.  40 

3.  The  Puritans  were  men  whose  minds  had  derived  a  peculiar 
character  from  the  daily  contemplation  of  superior  beings  and 
eternal  interests.  Not  content  with  acknowledging,  in  general 
terms,  an  over-ruling  Providence,  they  habitually  ascribed  every 
event  to  the  will  of  the  Great  Being,  for  whose  power  nothing  45 
Was  too  vast,  for  whose  inspection  nothing  was  too  minute.  To 
know  him,  to  serve  him,  to  enjoy  him,  was  with  them  the  great 
end  of  existence.  They  rejected  with  contempt  the  ceremonious 
homage  which  other  sects  substituted  for  the  pure  worship  of  the 
soul.  Instead  of  catching  occasional  glimpses  of  the  Deity  50 
through  an  obscuring  veil,  they  aspired  to  gaze  full  on  the  in- 
tolerable brightness,  and  to  commune  with  him  face  to  face. 
Hence  originated  their  contempt  for  terrestrial  distinctions. 
The  difference  between  the  greatest  and  meanest  of  mankind 
seemed  to  vanish,  when  compared  with  the  boundless  interval  ss 
which  separated  the  whole  race  from  him  on  whom  their  own 
eyes  were  constantly  fixed.  They  recognized  no  title  to  superi- 
ority but  his  favor;  and,  confident  of  that  favor,  they  despised 
all  the  accomplishments  and  all  the  dignities  of  the  world.  If 
they  were  unacquainted  with  the  works  of  philosophers  and  60 
poets,  they  were  deeply  read  in  the  oracles*  of  God  ;  if  their 
names  were  not  found  in  the  registers  of  heralds,  they  felt  as- 
sured that  they  were  recorded  in  the  Book  of  Life;  if  their 
steps  were  not  accompanied  by  a  splendid  train  of  menials,  le- 
gions of  ministering  angels  had  charge  over  them.  Their  palaces  65 
were  houses  not  made  with  hands;  their  diadems  crowns  of  glory 


61.  the  oracles  of  God :  that  is,  the  Holy 
Scriptures. 


was  to  record  and  blazon  the 
arms  of  the  nobility  and  gen- 


62.  heralds,  officers  whose  business  it  |  try, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 43-46.  Not ...  minute.  What  kind  of  sentence 
rhetorically  ? — Point  out  antithetical  expressions. 

46-48.  To  knon  .  .  .  existence.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def. 
88.) 

50-52.  Instead  .  .  .  face.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 

59-65.  If .  . .  them.  In  this  sentence  how  many  antitheses  ?  Considered  as 
a  whole  the  sentence  illustrates  what  figure  ?  (See  Def.  18,  ill.) 


THE  PURITANS.  435 

which  should  never  fade  away!  On  the  rich  and  the  eloquent, 
on  nobles  and  priests,  they  looked  down  with  contempt ;  for  they 
esteemed  themselves  rich  in  a  more  precious  treasure,  and  elo- 
quent in  a  more  sublime  language — nobles  by  the  right  of  an  70 
earlier  creation,  and  priests  by  the  imposition  of  a  mightier  hand. 
The  very  meanest  of  them  was  a  being  to  whose  fate  a  mysterious 
and  terrible  importance  belonged — on  whose  slightest  actions  the 
spirits  of  light  and  darkness  looked  with  anxious  interest — who 
had  been  destined,  before  heaven  and  earth  were  created,  to  enjoy  75 
a  felicity  which  should  continue  when  heaven  and  earth  should 
have  passed  away.  Events  which  short-sighted  politicians  as- 
cribed to  earthly  causes  had  been  ordained  on  his  account.  For 
his  sake  empires  had  risen  and  flourished  and  decayed.  For 
his  sake  the  Almighty  had  proclaimed  his  will  by  the  pen  of  the  &> 
evangelist  and  the  harp  of  the  prophet.  He  had  been  rescued 
by  no  common  deliverer  from  the  grasp  of  no  common  foe.  He 
had  been  ransomed  by  the  sweat  of  no  vulgar  agony,  by  the  blood 
of  no  earthly  sacrifice.  It  was  for  him  that  the  sun  had  been 
darkened,  that  the  rocks  had  been  rent,  and  the  dead  had  arisen,  85 
that  all  nature  had  shuddered  at  the  sufferings  of  her  expiring 
God! 

4.  Thus  the  Puritan  was  made  up  of  two  different  men,  the 
one  all  self-abasement,  penitence,  gratitude,  passion,  the  other 
proud,  calm,  inflexible,  sagacious.     He  prostrated  himself  in  the  90 
dust  before  his  Maker;  but  he  set  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  his 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 67-71.  On  the  rich  .  .  .  hand.  Analyze  this  fine  sen- 
tence. What  is  its  structure — periodic,  or  loose  ? — Point  out  in  detail  how  the 
statement  in  the  first  member  is  carried  out  in  the  second. — Observe  the  ef- 
fective use  made  of  the  technical  terms  "creation"  and  "imposition." 

72-77.  The  .  .  .  away.     What  adjective  clauses  modify  the  word  "  being  ?" 

79-81.  For. .  .  prophet.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech? — Would  this  sen- 
tence be  as  effective  if  expressed  as  follows  :  "  For  his  sake  the  Almighty  had 
proclaimed  his  will  by  the  evangelist  and  the  prophet  ?"  Give  reasons  for 
your  opinion. 

81,  82.  He.  .  .  foe.  Is  the  repetition  of  the  word  "common"  to  be  con> 
demned  ?  Why  not  ?— Substitute  a  synonym  for  the  last  "  common,"  and  see 
if  the  sentence  remains  equally  artistic  in  its  structure. 

82-87.  He ...  God.  Explain  the  allusions. — Does  this  passage  partake  of 
hyperbole  ? 

88-92.  Thai .  .  .  king .     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  18.) 


436  MA  CAUL  AY. 

king.  In  his  devotional  retirement,  he  prayed  with  convulsions 
and  groans  and  tears.  He  was  half -maddened  by  glorious  or 
terrible  illusions.  He  heard  the  lyres  of  angels  or  the  tempting 
whispers  of  fiends.  He  caught  a  gleam  of  the  Beatific  Vision,  or  95 
woke  screaming  from  dreams  of  everlasting  fire.  Like  Vane,  he 
thought  himself  intrusted  with  the  sceptre  of  the  millennial  year. 
Like  Fleetwood,  he  cried  in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul  that  God 
had  hid  his  face  from  him.  But  when  he  took  his  seat  in  the 
council,  or  girt  on  his  sword  for  war,  these  tempestuous  work- 100 
ings  of  the  soul  had  left  no  perceptible  trace  behind  them. 
People  who  saw  nothing  of  the  godly  but  their  uncouth  visages, 
and  heard  nothing  from  them  but  their  groans  and  their  whin- 
ing hymns,  might  laugh  at  them.  But  those  had  little  reason  to 
laugh  who  encountered  them  in  the  hall  of  debate  or  in  the  field  105 
of  battle.  These  fanatics  brought  to  civil  and  military  affairs  a 
coolness  of  judgment  and  an  immutability  of  purpose  which 
some  writers  have  thought  inconsistent  with  their  religious  zeal, 
but  which  were  in  fact  the  necessary  effects  of  it.  The  intensity 
of  their  feelings  on  one  subject  made  them  tranquil  on  every  no 
other.  One  overpowering  sentiment  had  subjected  to  itself  pity 
and  hatred,  ambition  and  fear.  Death  had  lost  its  terrors  and 
pleasure  its  charms.  They  had  their  smiles  and  their  tears,  their 
raptures  and  their  sorrows,  but  not  for  the  things  of  this  world. 
Enthusiasm  had  made  them  Stoics,  had  cleared  their  minds  from  us 


96.  Vane,  Sir  Henry,  was  on  the  Parlia- 
mentary side  during  the  English 
Civil  War,  and  was  a  member 
of  the  Council  of  State. 


98.  Fleetwood,  Charles,  a  conspicuous 
figure  in  the  English  Civil  War ; 
he  was  a  son-in-law  of  Crom- 
well. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 92, 93.  In  ...  tears.     Remark  on  the  conjunctions. 

93>  94-  glorious  or  terrible  illusions.  Point  out  in  detail  how  this  is  ampli- 
fied in  the  next  two  sentences.  And  observe,  in  the  succeeding  two  sentences, 
the  art  with  which  the  thought  is  enforced  by  examples. 

99-101.  But .  .  .  them.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? 

104-106.  But . .  .  battle.  Change  the  order  of  this  sentence  so  as  to  bring 
the  adjective  clause  next  to  the  subject,  and  observe  how  much  less  effective 
the  sentence  becomes. 

106-123.  These  fanatics . .  .  barrier.  In  these  sentences  point  out  examples 
of  antithesis.  Of  balanced  sentences. 


THE  PURITANS. 


437 


every  vulgar  passion  and  prejudice,  and  raised  them  above  the 
influence  of  danger  and  of  corruption.  It  sometimes  might  lead 
them  to  pursue  unwise  ends,  but  never  to  choose  unwise  means. 
They  went  through  the  world,  like  Sir  Artegal's  iron  man  Talus 
with  his  flail,  crushing  and  trampling  down  oppressors,  mingling  120 
with  human  beings,  but  having  neither  part  nor  lot  in  human  in- 
firmities, insensible  to  fatigue,  to  pleasure,  and  to  pain,  not  to  be 
pierced  by  any  weapon,  not  to  be  withstood  by  any  barrier. 


119, 


Sir  Artegal's  iron  man  Talus.      By 

Spenser   {Faerie  Queene,  canto 
v.)  Talus  is  thus  represented  : 

"  His  name  was  Talus,  made  of  yron  mould, 
Immovable,  resistless,  without  end, 
Who,  in  his  hand,  an  yron  flail  doth  hold, 
With  which  he  threshed  out  falsehood  and  did 
truth  unfold." 


In  Spenser,  Talus  appears  as 
the  attendant  of  "  the  Cham- 
pion of  True  Justice,  Artegal ;" 
but  in  Grecian  mythology  he 
is  a  brazen  man,  made  by  Vul- 
can, to  guard  the  island  of 
Crete. 


XXX. 

RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON* 

1803. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT.1 

i.  Poet  and  moralist,  Emerson  has  beauty  and  truth  for  all 
men's  edification  and  delight.  His  works  are  studies.  And 

1  From  Concord  Days,  by  A.  Bronson  Alcott.  It  should  be  stated  that  in 
the  above  extract  some  changes  have  been  made  in  the  order  in  which  the 
paragraphs  stand  in  Mr.  Alcott's  fine  paper. 


ALCOTrS  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  EMERSON.       439 

any  youth  of  free  senses  and  fresh  affections  shall  be  spared 
years  of  tedious  toil,  in  which  wisdom  and  fair  learning  are,  for 
the  most  part,  held  at  arm's  length,  planet's  width,  from  his 
grasp,  by  graduating  from  this  college.  His  books  are  sur- 
charged with  vigorous  thoughts,  a  sprightly  wit.  They  abound 
in  strong  sense,  happy  humor,  keen  criticisms,  subtile  insights, 
noble  morals,  clothed  in  a  chaste  and  manly  diction,  fresh  with 
the  breath  of  health  and  progress. 

2.  We  characterize  and  class  him  with  the  moralists  who  sur- 
prise us  with  an  accidental  wisdom,  strokes  of  wit,  felicities  of 
phrase — as  Plutarch,  Seneca,  Epictetus,  Marcus  Aurelius,  Saadi, 
Montaigne,  Bacon,  Selden,  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Cowley,  Cole- 
ridge, Goethe — with  whose  delightful  essays,  notwithstanding  all 
the  pleasure  they  give  us,  we  still  plead  our  disappointment  at 
not  having  been  admitted  to  the  closer  intimacy  which  these 
loyal  leaves  had  with  their  owner's  mind  before  torn  from  his 
note-book,  jealous  even  at  not  having  been  taken  into  his  con- 
fidence in  the  editing  itself. 

3.  We  read,  never  as  if  he  were  the  dogmatist,  but  a  fair 
speaking  mind,  frankly  declaring  his  convictions,  and  commit- 
ting these  to  our  consideration,  hoping  we  may  have  thought 
like  things  ourselves ;  oftenest,  indeed,  taking  this  for  granted 
as  he  wrote.     There  is  nothing  of  the  spirit  of  proselyting,  but 
the  delightful  deference  ever  to  our  free  sense  and  right  opinion. 

4.  Consider  how  largely  our  letters  have  been  enriched  by  his 
contributions.     Consider,  too,  the  change  his  views  have  wrought 
in  our  methods  of  thinking  ;  how  he  has  won  over  the  bigot,  the 
unbeliever,  at  least  to  tolerance  and  moderation,  if  not  acknowl- 
edgment, by  his  circumspection  and  candor  of  statement. 

"  His  shining  armor, 
A  perfect  charmer ; 
Even  the  hornets  of  divinity 
Allow  him  a  brief  space, 
And  his  thought  has  a  place 
Upon  the  well-bound  library's  chaste  shelves, 
Where  man  of  various  wisdom  rarely  delves." 

5.  Emerson's  compositions  affect  us,  not  as  logic  linked  in  syl- 
logisms, but  as  voluntaries  rather — as  preludes, 'in  which  one  is 
not  tied  to  any  design  of  air,  but  may  vary  his  key  or  note  at 


44o  EMERSON. 

pleasure,  as  if  improvised  without  any  particular  scope  of  argu- 
ment; each  period,  paragraph,  being  a  perfect  note  in  itself, 
however  it  may  chance  chime  with  its  accompaniments  in  the 
piece,  as  a  waltz  of  wandering  stars,  a  dance  of  Hesperus  with 
Orion.  His  rhetoric  dazzles  by  its  circuits,  contrasts,  antitheses  ; 
imagination,  as  .in  all  sprightly  minds,  being  his  wand  of  power. 
He  comes  along  his  own  paths,  too,  and  in  his  own  fashion. 
What  though  he  build  his  piers  downwards  from  the  firmament 
to  the  tumbling  tides,  and  so  throw  his  radiant  span  across  the 
fissures  of  his  argument,  and  himself  pass  over  the  frolic  arches 
Arielwise — is  the  skill  less  admirable,  the  masonry  the  less  se- 
cure for  its  singularity  ?  So  his  books  are  best  read  as  irregular 
writings,  in  which  the  sentiment  is,  by  his  enthusiasm,  transfused 
throughout  the  piece,  telling  on  the  mind  in  cadences  of  a  cur- 
rent undersong,  giving  the  impression  of  a  connected  whole — 
which  it  seldom  is  —  such  is  the  rhapsodist's  cunning  in  its 
structure  and  delivery. 


COMPENSATION.  44 1 


I.— COMPENSATION. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  selection  comprises  about  one  half  of  Mr. 
Emerson's  essay  on  Compensation,  first  published  in  1841,  in  his  Essays — first 
series.  The  paper  is  one  of  marvellous  power  and  suggestiveness,  and  forms, 
perhaps,  the  most  characteristic  presentation  of  Mr.  Emerson's  philosophy 
and  style  that  could  be  given  in  the  space  here  available.  It  is  the  utterance 
of  his  deepest  thought,  and  had  been  long  meditated,  for  he  tells  us  that  ever 
since  he  was  a  boy  he  had  " desired  to  write  a  discourse  on  Compensation" 
And  this  discourse  cannot  but  be  thought-awakening  to  all  ingenuous  youth 
open  to  the  reception  of  the  higher  truths.] 

i.  Ever  since  I  was  a  boy  I  have  wished  to  write  a  discourse 
on  Compensation;*  for  it  seemed  to  me  when  very  young  that 
on  this  subject  life  was  ahead  of  theology,  and  the  people  knew 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — The  style  of  Emerson  should  be  carefully  studied 
by  the  pupil.  And  the  more  so  that,  from  the  absence  of  rhetorical  manner- 
ism in  his  writing — such  mannerism,  for  example,  as  that  of  Carlyle  or  Macau- 
lay — the  quality  of  his  literary  art  may  escape  the  untrained  student.  His  vo- 
cabulary is  drawn  both  from  literature  and  from  life,  and  has  a  wide  range. 
It  is  finely  compounded  of  the  Latin  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  elements.  His 
words  are  learned  or  homely  and  realistic  as  best  befits  his  thought ;  but  it 
should  be  noted  that  his  learned  words  are  always  vitalized  words,  which  Dr. 
Johnson's  learned  words  are  often  not.  The  structure  of  his  sentences  is  inar- 
tificial. His  sentences  are  generally  short  (style  coupl],  and  he  sometimes 
goes  further  even  than  Macaulay  in  erecting  into  separate  sentences  propositions 
which  other  writers  would  incorporate  as  constituent  members  or  qualifiers  of 
a  single  sentence.  The  principal  figures  of  speech  employed  by  this  author 
are:  (l)  antithesis,  (2)  metaphor,  and  (3)  simile.  The  first  figure  (antithesis)  is 
specially  characteristic  of  Emerson  ;  but  it  will  be  noted  that  the  antitheses 
are  real  antitheses,  not,  as  Macaulay's  antitheses  are  so  often,  the  mere  rhetor- 
ical opposition  of  terms.  Mr.  Emerson  employs  figures  of  speech  not  as  mere 
ornaments  :  he  inlays  them  in  the  organic  structure  of  the  thought. 

2.  Compensation.     Give  the  derivation  of  this  word,  and  state  the  metaphor 
on  which  it  rests. — Mr.  Emerson,  in  another  of  his  Essays — that  on  The  Poet 
— says  :  "Though  the  origin  of  most  of  our  words  is  forgotten,  each  word  was 
at  first  a  stroke  of  genius,  and  obtained  currency,  because  for  the  moment  it 
symbolized  the  word  to  the  first  speaker  and  to  the  hearer.     The  etymologist 
finds  the  deadest  word  to  have  been  once  a  brilliant  picture.    Language  is  fos- 
sil poetry" 

3,  4.  Show  the  dependence  of  the  following  clauses — 

a.  [that]  life  was  ahead  of  theology ; 

b.  [that]  the  people  knew  more  than  the  preachers  taught. 

What  expression  in  the  second  proposition  is  an  amplified  equivalent  of 
"theology"  in  the  first? 


442  EMERSON. 

more  than  the  preachers  taught.  The  documents,*  too,  from  which 
the  doctrine  is  to  be  drawn  charmed  my  fancy  by  their  endless  s 
variety,  and  lay  always  before  me,  even  in  sleep ;  for  they  are 
the  tools  in  our  hands,  the  bread  in  our  basket,  the  transactions 
of  the  street,  the  farm,  and  the  dwelling-house,  greetings,  rela- 
tions, debts  and  credits,  the  influence  of  character,  the  nature  and 
endowment  of  all  men.  It  seemed  to  me,  also,  that  in  it  might  10 
be  shown  men  a  ray  of  divinity,  the  present  action  of  the  soul  of 
this  world,  clean  from  all  vestige  of  tradition,  and  so  the  heart 
of  man  might  be  bathed  by  an  inundation  *  of  eternal  love,  con- 
versing with  that  which  he  knows  was  always,  and  always  must 
be,  because  it  really  is  now.  It  appeared,  moreover,  that  if  this  15 
doctrine  could  be  stated  in  terms  with  any  resemblance  to  those 
bright  intuitions  *  in  which  this  truth  is  sometimes  revealed  to  us, 
it  would  be  a  star  in  many  dark  hours  and  crooked  passages  in 
our  journey  that  would  not  suffer  us  to  lose  our  way.  .  .  . 

2.  POLARITY,*  or  action  and  reaction,  we  meet  in  every  part  of  2° 
nature — in  darkness  and  light;  in  heat  and  cold;  in  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  waters;  in  male  and  female;  in  the  inspiration  and  ex- 
piration of  plants  and  animals ;  in  the  equation  of  quantity  and 
quality  in  the  fluids  of  the  animal  body;  in  the  systole*  and  dias- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 4.  documents.  What  are  the  documents  from  which 
the  doctrine  is  to  be  drawn  ?  Accordingly,  is  the  word  "  documents  "  used  in 
its  ordinary  sense,  or  has  it  a  larger  significance  here  ? — Observe  that  these 
documents  maybe  regarded  as  an  expanded  equivalent  of  "life  "  in  sentence  i. 

10,  ii.  might  be  shown.  What  is  the  subject  of  this  verb? — Is  the  order 
grammatical  or  rhetorical  ? 

n,  12.  the  soul  of  this  world.     Compare  Shakespeare's  overarching  phrase — 

"the  prophetic  soul 
Of  the  wide  world  dreaming  of  things  to  come." 

13.  bathed  by  an  inundation,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def. 
20.) — Show  how  the  metaphor  in  the  word  "inundation"  carries  out  the  fig- 
ure in  "  bathed." 

17.  intuitions.     Give  an  Anglo-Saxon  synonym  of  "intuition." 

18.  would  be  a  star.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?    (See  Def.  20.) 
20-27.  Polarity  .  . .  affinity.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  18. 

The  name  synceceosis,  or  enantiosis,  is  sometimes  given  to  this  particular  form 
of  antithesis,  in  which  things  of  an  opposite  or  different  nature  are  contrasted 
with  one  another.)  Etymology  of  "polarity?" — Subject  or  object? — Why  is 
this  word  placed  at  the  beginning  of  the  sentence  ?— Point  out  the  antitheses 
in  this  sentence. — Indicate  and  define  the  technical  terms  in  this  sentence. 


COMPENSATION.  443 

tole  *  of  the  heart ;  in  the  undulations  *  of  fluids  and  of  sound ;  in  25 
the  centrifugal  and  centripetal  gravity;  in  electricity,  galvanism, 
and  chemical  affinity.    Superinduce  magnetism*  at  one  end  of  a 
needle,  the  opposite  magnetism  takes  place  at  the  other  end.    If 
the  south  attracts,  the  north  repels.     To  empty  here,  you  must 
condense  there.     An  inevitable  dualism*  bisects  nature,  so  thats« 
each  thing  is  a  half,  and  suggests  another  thing  to  make  it 
whole;   as, spirit,  matter;  man,  woman;  odd,  even;  subjective, 
objective;  in,  out;  upper,  under;  motion,  rest;  yea,  nay. 

3.  Whilst  the  world  is  thus  dual,  so  is  every  one  of  its  parts. 
The  entire  system  of  things  gets  represented  in  every  particle.  35 
There  is  somewhat  that  resembles  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea, 
day  and  night,  man  and  woman,  in  a  single  needle  of  the  pine,  in 

a  kernel  of  corn,  in  each  individual  of  every  animal  tribe.  The 
reaction,  so  grand  in  the  elements,  is  repeated  within  these  small 
boundaries.  For  example,  in  the  animal  kingdom  the  physiol-4° 
ogist  has  observed  that  no  creatures  are  favorites,  but  a  certain 
compensation  balances  every  gift  and  every  defect.  A  surplus- 
age* given  to  one  part  is  paid  out  of  a  reduction  from  another 
part  of  the  same  creature.  If  the  head  and  neck  are  enlarged, 
the  trunk  and  extremities  are  cut  short.  45 

4.  The  theory  of  the  mechanic  forces  is   another  example. 
What  we  gain  in  power  is  lost  in  time ;  and  the  converse.     The 
periodic  or  compensating  errors  of  the  planets  are  another  in- 
stance.    The  influences  of  climate  and  soil  in  political  history 
are  another.     The  cold  climate  invigorates.     The  barren  soil  & 
does  not  breed  fevers,  crocodiles,  tigers,  or  scorpions. 

5.  The  same  dualism  underlies  the  nature  and  condition  of 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 30.  dualism  bisects  nature.  How  is  this  explained 
in  the  subsequent  part  of  the  sentence  ? 

32.  as  spirit,  matter,  etc.  Can  you  give  any  other  instances  of  the  "  dual- 
ism "  in  nature  ? 

39,  40.  these  small  boundaries.  Of  what  previous  phrase  is  this  a  summa- 
rized expression  ? 

46-51.  The  theory  .  .  .  scorpions.  Of  how  many  sentences  does  this  paragraph 
consist  ? — State  to  what  class,  grammatically  and  rhetorically,  each  sentence 
belongs. — What  statements  illustrate  "the  influences  of  climate  and  soil  ?" 

52-74.  The  same  .  .  .  true.  To  what  is  the  application  of  the  doctrine  of 
dualism  made  in  this  paragraph  ?— Point  out  examples  of  antithesis. — Point 
out  an  example  of  personification. 


444  EMERSON. 

man.  Every  excess  causes  a  defect ;  every  defect  an  excess. 
Every  sweet  hath  its  sour ;  every  evil  its  good.  Every  faculty 
which  is  a  receiver  of  pleasure  has  an  equal  penalty  put  on  its  55 
abuse.  It  is  to  answer  for  its  moderation  with  its  life.  For  every 
grain  of  wit  there  is  a  grain  of  folly.  For  everything  you  have 
missed  you  have  gained  something  else  ;  and  for  everything  you 
gain  you  lose  something.  If  riches  increase,  they  are  increased 
that  use  them.  If  the  gatherer  gathers  too  much,  Nature  takes  60 
out  of  the  man  what  she  puts  into  his  chest ;  swells  the  estate, 
but  kills  the  owner.  Nature  hates  monopolies  and  exceptions. 
The  waves  of  the  sea  do  not  more  speedily  seek  a  level  from 
their  loftiest  tossing,  than  the  varieties  of  conditions  tend  to 
equalize  themselves.  There  is  always  some  levelling  circum-65 
stance  that  puts  down  the  overbearing,  the  strong,  the  rich,  the 
fortunate,  substantially  on  the  same  ground  with  all  others.  Is  a 
man  too  strong  and  fierce  for  society,  and  by  temper  and  position 
a  bad  citizen, — a  morose  ruffian,  with  a  dash  of  pirate  in  him ; 
—Nature  sends  him  a  troop  of  pretty  sons  and  daughters,  who  70 
are  getting  along  in  the  dame's  classes  in  the  village  school,  and 
love  and  fear  for  them  smooth  his  grim  scowl  to  courtesy.  Thus 
she  contrives  to  intenerate*  the  granite  and  felspar,  takes  the 
boar  out  and  puts  the  lamb  in,  and  keeps  her  balance  true. 

6.  The  farmer  imagines  power  and  place  are  fine  things.     But  75 
the  President  has  paid  dear  for  his  White  House.    It  has  common- 
ly cost  him  all  his  peace  and  the  best  of  his  manly  attributes.   To 
preserve  for  a  short  time  so  conspicuous  an  appearance  before  the 
world,  he  is  content  to  eat  dust  before  the  real  masters  who  stand 
erect  behind  the  throne.    Or,  do  men  desire  the  more  substantial  so 
and  permanent  grandeur  of  genius  ?     Neither  has  this  an  immu- 
nity.   He  who  by  force  of  will  or  thought  is  great,  and  overlooks 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 73.  Etymology  of  "  intenerate  ?" 

73,  74.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in  "takes  the  boar  out,"  etc. 

75.  The  farmer . . .  things.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

76.  paid  dear  for  his  White  House.     Explain,  and  express  the  idea  in  general 
in  place  of  specific  terms.    Note  the  superior  effectiveness  of  the  specific  mode 
of  statement. 

78-80.  To  preserve  .  .  .  throne.     Indicate  briefly  the  analysis  of  this  sentence. 
—behind  the  throne.     Literal  or  figurative  ?     Express  in  plain  language. 
8 1,  82.  an  immunity.     Explain. 


COMPENSA  TION.  445 

thousands,  has  the  charges  of  that  eminence.  With  every  influx 
of  light  comes  new  danger.  Has  he  light  ? — he  must  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  light,  and  always  outrun  that  sympathy  which  gives  ss 
him  such  keen  satisfaction  by  his  fidelity  to  new  revelations  of 
the  incessant  soul.  He  must  hate  father  and  mother,  wife  and 
child.  Has  he  all  that  the  world  loves  and  admires  and  covets? 
— he  must  cast  behind  him  their  admiration,  and  afflict  them  by 
faithfulness  to  his  truth,  and  become  a  byword  and  a  hissing.  ...  90 

7.  Thus  is  the  universe  alive.     All  things  are  moral.     That 
soul  which  within  us  is  a  sentiment,  outside  of  us  is  a  law.     We 
feel  its  inspiration;  out  there  in  history  we  can  see  its  fatal 
strength.     "  It  is  in  the  world,  and  the  world  was  made  by  it." 
Justice  is  not  postponed.     A  perfect  equity  adjusts  its  balance  95 
in  all  parts  of  life.     Ot  *cv/3ot  Atoc  uel  tvTriTrrovfn — The  dice  of  God 
are  always  loaded.     The  world  looks  like  a  multiplication-table, 
or  a  mathematical  equation,  which,  turn  it  how  you  will,  balances 
itself.     Take  what  figure  you  will,  its  exact  value,  nor  more  nor 
less,  still  returns  to  you.     Every  secret  is  told,  every  crime  is  100 
punished,  every  virtue  rewarded,  every  wrong  redressed,  in  silence 
and  certainty.     What  we  call  retribution  is  the  universal  neces- 
sity by  which  the  whole  appears  wherever  a  part  appears.    If  you 
see  smoke,  there  must  be  fire.     If  you  see  a  hand  or  a  limb,  you 
know  that  the  trunk  to  which  it  belongs  is  there  behind.  105 

8.  Every  act  rewards  itself,  or,  in  other  words,  integrates*  itself 
in  a  twofold  manner :  first,  in  the  thing,  or  in  real  nature ;  and, 
secondly,  in  the  circumstance,  or  in  apparent  nature.     Men  call 
the  circumstance  the  retribution.     The  causal  retribution  is  in 
the  thing,  and  is  seen  by  the  soul.     The  retribution  in  the  cir-uo 
cumstance  is  seen  by  the  understanding ;  it  is  inseparable  from 
the  thing,  but  is  often  spread  over  a  long  time,  and  so  does  not 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  84,  85.  he  must  bear  witness,  etc.  What  do  you 
think  the  author  means  ? 

91,92.  Thus ...  law.  What  are  the  three  propositions?  (These  well  il- 
lustrate the  aphoristic  form  of  statement  which  may  be  characterized  as  pe- 
culiarly Emersonian.) 

94.  It  Is,  etc.     What  is  the  allusion  ? 

96.  Ol,  etc.  The  Greek  words  (translated  immediately  afterwards)  are 
thus  anglicized  :  Hoi  kuboi  Dios  aei  eupiptousi. 

106.  integrates.     Show  by  its  etymology  the  felicitous  use  of  this  word. 


446  EMERSON. 

become  distinct  until  after  many  years.  The  specific  stripes 
may  follow  late  after  the  offence,  but  they  follow  because  they  ac- 
company it.  Crime  and  punishment  grow  out  of  one  stem.  Pun- 115 
ishment  is  a  fruit  that  unsuspected  ripens  within  the  flower  of  the 
pleasure  which  concealed  it.  Cause  and  effect,  means  and  ends, 
seed  and  fruit,  cannot  be  severed  ;  for  the  effect  already  blooms 
in  the  cause,  the  end  pre-exists  in  the  means,  the  fruit  in  the  seed. 

9.  Whilst  thus  the  world  will  be  whole,  and  refuses  to  be  dis- 120 
parted,  we  seek  to  act  partially,  to  sunder,  to  appropriate.     For 
example,  to  gratify  the  senses  we  sever  the  pleasure  of  the  senses 
from  the  needs  of  the  character.     The  ingenuity  of  man  has  al- 
ways been  dedicated  to  the  solution  of  one  problem — how  to  de- 
tach the  sensual  sweet,  the  sensual  strong,  the  sensual  bright,  125 
etc.,  from  the  moral  sweet,  the  moral  deep,  the  moral  fair ;  that 
is,  again,  to  contrive  to  cut  clean  off  this  upper  surface  so  thin 
as  to  leave  it  bottomless  ;  to  get  a  one  end  without  an  other  end. 
The  soul  says,  Eat ;  the  body  would  feast.     The  soul  says,  The 
man  and  woman  shall  be  one  flesh  and  one  soul ;  the  body  would  130 
join  the  flesh  only.     The  soul  says,  Have  dominion  over  all 
things  to  the  end  of  virtue;  the  body  would  have  the  power  over 
things  to  its  own  end.  .  .  . 

10.  Still  more  striking  is  the  expression  of  this  fact  in  the 
proverbs  of  all  nations,  which  are  always  the  literature  of  rea- 135 
son  or  the  statements  of  an  absolute  truth,  without  qualification. 
Proverbs,  like  the  sacred  books  of  each  nation,  are  the  sanctuary 
of  the  intuitions.     That  which  the  droning  world,  chained  to  ap- 
pearances, will  not  allow  the  realist  to  say  in  his  own  words,  it 
will  suffer  him  to  say  in  proverbs  without  contradiction.     And  140 
this  law  of  laws,  which  the  pulpit,  the  senate,  and  the  college 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 115.  grow  out  of  one  stem.  Change  into  plain  Ian- 
guage. 

1 1 6.  is  a  fruit,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  20.) 

125.  the  sensual  sweet,  etc.  Point  out  the  contrasting  epithets  and  substan- 
tives. 

134.  Still  more,  etc.     Transpose  into  the  direct  order. 

I37»  I3&  Prorerbs  . .  .  Intuitions.  Express  in  your  own  words  this  sentence, 
which  should  be  committed  to  memory. 

138,  139-  the  droning  world  ...  the  realist.  Observe  the  deep  meaning  in 
these  antithetical  terms. 

141.  the  pulpit,  the  senate,  and  the  college.    Is  this  synecdoche  or  metonymy  ? 


COMPENSATION.  447 

deny,  is  hourly  preached  in  all  markets  and  workshops  by  flights 
of  proverbs,  whose  teaching  is  as  true  and  as  omnipresent  as  that 
of  birds  and  flies. 

11.  All  things  are  double,  one  against  another — tit  for  tat;  an  145 
eye  for  an  eye;  a  tooth  for  a  tooth;  blood  for  blood;  measure 
for  measure ;  love  for  love.    Give  and  it  shall  be  given  you.    He 
that  watereth  shall  be  watered  himself.     What  will  you  have? 
quoth  God ;  pay  for  it  and  take  it.    Nothing  venture,  nothing  have. 
Thou  shalt  be  paid  exactly  for  what  thou  hast  done,  no  more,  no  150 
less.     Who  doth  not  work  shall  not  eat.     Harm  watch,  harm 
catch.     Curses  always  recoil  on  the  head  of  him  who  imprecates 
them.     If  you  put  a  chain  around  the  neck  of  a  slave,  the  other 
end  fastens  itself  around  your  own.     Bad  counsel  confounds  the 
adviser.     The  devil  is  an  ass.  155 

12.  It  is  thus  written,  because  it  is  thus  in  life.     Our  action  is 
overmastered  and  characterized  above  our  will  by  the  law  of  nat- 
ure.    We  aim  at  a  petty  end  quite  aside  from  the  public  good, 
but  our  act  arranges  itself  by  irresistible  magnetism  in  a  line  with 
the  poles  of  the  world.  160 

13.  A  man  cannot  speak  but  he  judges  himself.     With  his  will 
or  against  his  will,  he  draws  his  portrait  to  the  eye  of  his  com- 
panions by  every  word.     Every  opinion  reacts  on  him  who  utters 
it.     It  is  a  thread-ball  thrown  at  a  mark,  but  the  other  end  re- 
mains in  the  thrower's  bag.    Or,  rather,  it  is  a  harpoon  hurled  at  165 
the  whale,  unwinding  as  it  flies  a  coil  of  cord  in  the  boat ;  and 

if  the  harpoon  is  not  good,  or  not  well  thrown,  it  will  go  nigh  to 
cut  the  steersman  in  twain  or  to  sink  the  boat. 

14.  You  cannot  do  wrong  without  suffering  wrong.     "  No  man 
had  ever  a  point  of  pride  that  was  not  injurious  to  him,"  said  170 
Burke.    The  exclusive  in  fashionable  life  does  not  see  that  he  ex- 
cludes himself  from  enjoyment  in  the  attempt  to  appropriate  it. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 145-155.  All ...  ad?iser.    Point  out  the  antitheses. 

159,  1 60.  our  act ...  world.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def.  20.) 

162.  draws  his  portrait.     Express  in  other  words. 

165.  it  is  a  harpoon,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  20.) — 
State  the  application  of  the  figure  to  the  thought. 

171.  The  exclusive.  What  is  the  distinction  between  "the  exclusive"  and 
"the  exclusionist "  (line  173)? 


448  EMERSON. 

The  exclusionist*  in  religion  does  not  see  that  he  shuts  the  door 
of  heaven  on  himself  in  striving  to  shut  out  others.  Treat  men 
as  pawns  and  nine-pins,  and  you  shall  suffer  as  well  as  they.  If  175 
you  leave  out  their  heart,  you  shall  lose  your  own.  The  senses 
would  make  things  of  all  persons — of  women,  of  children,  of  the 
poor.  The  vulgar*  pro  verb,  "I  will  get  it  from  his  purse  or  get 
it  from  his  skin,"  is  sound  philosophy. 

15.  All  infractions  of  love  and  equity  in  our  social  relations  180 
are  speedily  punished.     They  are  punished  by  fear.     Whilst  I 
stand  in  simple  relations  to  my  fellow-man  I  have  no  displeasure 

in  meeting  him.  We  meet  as  water  meets  water,  or  as  two  cur- 
rents of  air  mix,  with  perfect  diffusion  and  interpenetration  of 
nature.  But  as  soon  as  there  is  any  departure  from  simplicity,  185 
and  attempt  at  halfness,  or  good  for  me  that  is  not  good  for  him, 
my  neighbor  feels  the  wrong;  he  shrinks  from  me  as  far  as  I 
have  shrunk  from  him;  his  eyes  no  longer  seek  mine;  there  is 
war  between  us;  there  is  hate  in  him  and  fear  in  me. 

1 6.  All  the  old  abuses  in  society,  universal  and  particular,  all  190 
unjust  accumulations  of  property  and  power,  are  avenged  in 
the  same  manner.     Fear  is  an  instructor  of  great  sagacity,  and 
the  herald  of  all  revolutions.    One  thing  he  teaches,  that  there  is 
rottenness  where  he  appears.     He  is  a  carrion  crow;  and  though 
you  see  not  well  what  he  hovers  for,  there  is  death  somewhere.  195 
Our  property  is  timid,  our  laws  are  timid,  our  cultivated  classes 
are  timid.     Fear  for  ages  has  boded  and  mowed  and  gibbered 
over  government  and  property.    That  obscene*  bird  is  not  there 
for  nothing.     He  indicates  great  wrongs  which  must  be  revised. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 173.  shuts  the  door.     Show  how  the  etymological 
signification  of  exclusionist  is  carried  out  in  the  expression  "shuts  the  door." 

175.  as  pawns  and  nine-pins.     Change  into  plain  language. 

176.  leave  out  their  heart.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 

178.  yulgar.     Etymology  ?    In  what  sense  is  the  word  used  here  ? 
183-185.  We  ...  nature.     Point  out  the  similes. 

191,  192.  in  the  same  manner.     In  what  manner? 

192,  193.  Fear . . .  revolutions.     Point  out  the  personification  ;  the  metaphor. 
Change  the  metaphor  into  plain  terms. 

194.  is  a  carrion-crow.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

196-198.  Fear  .  .  .  property.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? — Point  out  vivid- 
ly used  words,  and  explain  them. 

198.  That  obscene  bird.     Meaning  what  ? — Etymology  of  "  obscene  ?" 


COMPENSATION. 


449 


17.  Of  the  like  nature  is  that  expectation  of  change  which  in- 200 
stantly  follows  the  suspension  of  our  voluntary  activity.    The  ter- 
ror of  cloudless  noon,  the  emerald  of  Polycrates,  the  awe  of  pros- 
perity, the  instinct  which  leads  every  generous  soul  to  impose 
on  itself  tasks  of  a  noble  asceticism  and  vicarious*  virtue,  are 
the  tremblings  of  the  balance  of  justice  through  the  heart  and  205 
mind  of  man. 

1 8.  Experienced  men  of  the  world  know  very  well  that  it  is  best 
to  pay  scot  and  lot  as  they  go  along,  and  that  a  man  often  pays 
dear  for  a  small  frugality.     The  borrower  runs  in  his  own  debt. 
Has  a  man  gained  anything  who  has  received  a  hundred  favors  210 
and  rendered  none  ?     Has  he  gained  by  borrowing,  through  in- 
dolence or  cunning,  his  neighbor's  wares,  or  horses,  or  money  ? 
There  arises  on  the  deed  the  instant  acknowledgment  of  benefit 
on  the  one  part,  and  of  debt  on  the  other ;  that  is,  of  superiority 
and  inferiority.     The  transaction  remains  in  the  memory  of  him-  215 
self  and  his  neighbor ;  and  every  new  transaction  alters,  according 
to  its  nature,  their  relation  to  each  other.    He  may  soon  come  to 
see  that  he  had  better  have  broken  his  own  bones  than  to  have 


NOTES. — Line  202.  the  emerald  of  Po- 1 
lycrates.  The  story  of  Polyc'- 
rates,  despot  of  Samos,  is  told 
by  Herodotus.  Having  been 
fortunate  in  all  his  undertakings, 
he  formed  an  alliance  with  Ama- 
sis,  King  of  Egypt,  who,  how- 
ever,finally  renounced  it  through 
alarm  at  the  amazing  good-for- 
tune of  Polycrates.  In  a  letter 
which  Amasis  wrote  to  Polyc- 
rates, the  Egyptian  monarch  ad- 
vised him  to  throw  away  one  of 
his  most  valuable  possessions, 
in  order  that  he  might  thus  in- 
flict some  injury  on  himself. 


In  accordance  with  this  advice, 
Polycrates  threw  into  the  sea  a 
seal-ring  of  extraordinary  beau- 
ty ;  but  in  a  few  days  it  was 
found  in  the  belly  of  a  fish 
which  had  been  presented  to 
him  by  a  fisherman.  However, 
in  the  midst  of  all  his  prosperi- 
ty he  fell  by  the  most  ignomini- 
ous fate ;  for,  falling  into  the 
hands  of  his  enemy  Oroetes,  he 
was  crucified. 

208.  scot  and  lot,  "  a  customary  contri- 
bution laid  on  subjects  accord- 
ing to  their  ability."  —  COW- 
ELL. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 209.  The  borrower .  . .  debt.  Point  out  the  example 
of  the  figure  oxymoron.  (See  Def.  18,  i.)— What  do  you  understand  by  the 
sentence  ? 

210-212.  Has  . .  .  money!  What  is  the  effect  of  the  use  of  the  interrogative 
form  in  these  two  sentences  ? 

29 


45o  EMERSON. 

ridden  in  his  neighbor's  coach,  and  that  "the  highest  price  he 
can  pay  for  a  thing  is  to  ask  for  it."  220 

19.  A  wise  man  will  extend  this  lesson  to  all  parts  of  life,  and 
know  that  it  is  the  part  of  prudence  to  face  every  claimant,  and 
pay  every  just  demand  on  your  time,  your  talents,  or  your  heart. 
Always  pay;  for,  first  or  last,  you  must  pay  your  entire  debt. 
Persons  and  events  may  stand  for  a  time  between  you  and  jus-  225 
tice,  but  it  is  only  a  postponement.     You  must  pay  at  last  your 
own  debt.    If  you  are  wise,  you  will  dread  a  prosperity  which  only 
loads  you  with  more.     Benefit  is  the  end  of  nature.     But  for 
every  benefit  which  you  receive  a  tax  is  levied.     He  is  great  who 
confers  the  most  benefits.    He  is  base — and  that  is  the  one  base  230 
thing  in  the  universe — who  receives  favors  and  renders  none. 
In  the  order  of  nature,  we  cannot  render  benefits  to  those  from 
whom  we  receive  them,  or  only  seldom.     But  the  benefit  we  re- 
ceive must  be  rendered  again,  line  for  line,  deed  for  deed,  cent 
for  cent,  to  somebody.     Beware   of  too  much  good  staying  in  235 
your  hand.     It  will  fast  corrupt  and  worm  worms.     Pay  it  away 
quickly  in  some  sort.  .  .  . 

20.  On  the  other  hand,  the  law  holds  with  equal  sureness  for 
all  right  action.     Love,  and  you  shall  be   loved.     All  love  is 
mathematically  just,  as  much  as  the  two  sides  of  an  algebraic  240 
equation.    The  good  man  has  absolute  good,  which,  like  fire,  turns 
everything  to  its  own  nature,  so  that  you  cannot  do  him  any  harm ; 
but  as  the  royal  armies  sent  against  Napoleon,  when  he  approach- 
ed, cast  down  their  colors  and  from  enemies  became  friends,  so 
disasters  of  all  kinds,  as  sickness,  offence,  poverty,  prove  bene-24s 
factors : 

"  Winds  blow  and  waters  roll 
Strength  to  the  brave,  and  power  and  deity, 
Yet  in  themselves  are  nothing." 

The  good  are  befriended  even  by  weakness  and  defect.     As  no  *$« 
man  had  ever  a  point  of  pride  that  was  not  injurious  to  him,  so 
no  man  had  ever  a  defect  that  was  not  somewhere  made  useful 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 236.  worm  worms.  Explain  this  idiomatic  expres- 
sion. 

250-256.  As  ...  him.  Point  out  the  contrasted  terms  of  the  antithesis.— Show 
the  application  of  the  illustration. 


CO  MP ENS  A  TION. 


45 1 


to  him.  The  stag  in  the  fable  admired  his  horns  and  blamed  his 
feet;  but  when  the  hunter  came,  his  feet  saved  him,  and  after- 
wards, caught  in  a  thicket,  his  horns  destroyed  him.  Every  man  255 
in  his  lifetime  needs  to  thank  his  faults.  As  no  man  thoroughly 
understands  a  truth  until  he  has  contended  against  it,  so  no  man 
has  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  hindrances  or  talents  of 
men  until  he  has  suffered  from  the  one  and  seen  the  triumph  of 
the  other  over  his  own  want  of  the  same.  Has  he  a  defect  of  260 
temper  that  unfits  him  to  live  in  society  ?  Thereby  he  is  driven 
to  entertain  himself  alone,  and  acquire  habits  of  self-help ;  and 
thus,  like  the  wounded  oyster,  he  mends  his  shell  with  pearl.  .  .  . 

21.  The  history  of  persecution  is  a  history  of  endeavors  to 
cheat  nature,  to  make  water  run  up  hill,  to  twist  a  rope  of  sand.  265 
It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  actors  be  many  or  one,  a  ty- 
rant or  a  mob.    A  mob  is  a  society  of  bodies  voluntarily  bereaving 
themselves  of  reason,  and  traversing  its  work.     The  mob  is  man 
voluntarily  descending  to  the  nature  of  the  beast.     Its  fit  hour 
of  activity  is  night.     Its  actions  are  insane,  like  its  whole  consti-  270 
tution.    It  persecutes  a  principle;  it  would  whip  a  right;  it  would 
tar  and  feather  justice  by  inflicting  fire  and  outrage  uoon  the 
houses  and  persons  of  those  who  have  these.     It  resembles  the 
prank  of  boys  who  run  with  fire-engines  to  put  out  the  ruddy 
aurora  streaming  to  the  stars.     The  inviolate  spirit  turns  their  275 
spite  against  the  wrong-doers.    The  martyr  cannot  be  dishonored. 
Every  lash  inflicted  is  a  tongue  of  fame;  every  prison  a  more  il- 
lustrious  abode  ;   every  burned  book  or  house  enlightens  the 
world ;  every  suppressed  or  expunged  word  reverberates  through 
the  earth  from  side  to  side.     Hours  of  sanity  and  consideration  280 
are  always  arriving  to  communities,  as  to  individuals,  when  the 
truth  is  seen,  and  the  martyrs  are  justified.  .  .  . 

22.  We  cannot  part  with  our  friends.     We  cannot  let  our  an- 
gels go.     We  do  not  see  that  they  only  go  out  that  archangels 
may  come  in.     We  are  idolaters  of  the  old.     We  do  not  believe  28^ 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 263.  like . . .  pearl.  The  pupil  cannot  fail  to  note 
this  exceedingly  fine  image.  It  illustrates  the  highest  use  of  metaphor,  as  at 
once  ornament  and  argument. 

264-282.  The  history  .  .  .  justified.  In  paragraph  21  point  out  striking 
thoughts  ;  felicitous  words,  phrases,  or  images. 


452 


EMERSON. 


in  the  riches  of  the  soul,  in  its  proper  eternity  and  omnipresence. 
We  do  not  believe  there  is  any  force  in  to-day  to  rival  or  recreate 
that  beautiful  yesterday.  We  linger  in  the  ruins  of  the  old  tent, 
where  once  we  had  bread  and  shelter  and  organs,  nor  believe  that 
the  spirit  can  feed,  cover,  and  nerve  us  again.  We  cannot  again  290 
find  aught  so  dear,  so  sweet,  so  graceful.  But  we  sit  and  weep 
in  vain.  The  voice  of  the  Almighty  saith,  "  Up  and  onward  for 
evermore !"  We  cannot  stay  amid  the  ruins.  Neither  will  we 
rely  on  the  new ;  and  so  we  walk  ever  with  reverted  eyes,  like 
those  monsters  who  look  backwards.  295 

23.  And  yet  the  compensations  of  calamity  are  made  apparent 
to  the  understanding  also,  after  long  intervals  of  time.  A  fever, 
a  mutilation,  a  cruel  disappointment,  a  loss  of  wealth,  a  loss  of 
friends,  seems  at  the  moment  unpaid  loss,  and  unpayable.  But 
the  sure  years  reveal  the  deep  remedial  force  that  underlies  all  300 
facts.  The  death  of  a  dear  friend — wife,  brother,  lover — which 
seemed  nothing  but  privation,  somewhat  later  assumes  the  aspect 
of  a  guide  or  genius;  for  it  commonly  operates  revolutions  in  our 
way  of  life,  terminates  an  epoch  of  infancy  or  of  youth  which  was 
waiting  to  be  closed,  breaks  up  a  wonted  occupation,  or  a  house-  305 
hold,  or  style  of  living,  and  allows  the  formation  of  new  ones 
more  friendly  to  the  growth  of  character.  It  permits  or  con- 
strains the  formation  of  new  acquaintances,  and  the  reception  of 
new  influences  that  prove  of  the  first  importance  to  the  next 
years;  and  the  man  or  woman  who  would  have  remained  a  sun- 310 
ny  garden-flower,  with  no  room  for  its  roots  and  too  much  sun- 
shine for  its  head,  by  the  falling  of  the  walls  and  the  neglect  of 
the  gardener  is  made  the  banyan  of  the  forest,  yielding  shade 
and  fruit  to  wide  neighborhoods  of  men. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 286.  its  proper  eternity :  that  is,  its  own  eternity,  the 
eternity  which  is  its  property. 

296-314.  And  . . .  men.  Express  in  your  own  words  the  lofty  thought  in 
paragraph  23.  Give  the  class,  grammatically  and  rhetorically,  to  which  each 
sentence  belongs.  Name  the  last  figure  of  speech,  and  note  with  what  a  fine 
swell  the  sentence  closes. 


THE  PROBLEM.  453 

II.— THE   PROBLEM. 

I  like  a  church,  I  like  a  cowl, 

I  love  a  prophet  of  the  soul, 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 

Fall  like  sweet  strains  or  pensive  smiles, 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see  5 

Would  I  that  cowled  churchman  be. 

Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure, 

Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure  ? 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 

His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought ;  ao 

Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 

The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle  ; 

Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 

The  burdens  of  the  Bibles  old; 

The  litanies  of  nations  came,.  15 

Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame. 

Up  from  the  burning  core  below, — 

The  canticles  of  love  and  woe. 

The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome 

And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome,  20 

Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity, 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free  ; 

He  builded  better  than  he  knew, 

The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 

Know'st  thou  what  wove  yon  wood-bird's  nest  as 

Of  leaves  and  feathers  from  her  breast ; 

Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell, 

Painting  with  morn  each  annual  cell ; 

Or  how  the  sacred  pine-tree  adds 

To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads  ?  30 

Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles 

Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 

Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon 

As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone  ; 

And  morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids  35 

To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids ; 


EMERSON. 

O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky 

As  on  its  friends  with  kindred  eye ; 

For,  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere, 

These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air  ;  4c 

And  nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 

Adopted  them  into  her  race, 

And  granted  them  an  equal  date 

With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 

These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass,  <5 

Art  might  obey  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand, 

To  the  vast  Soul  that  o'er  him  planned, 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within.  50 

Ever  the  fiery  Pentecost 

Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 

Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  quires, 

And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken  55 

Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken  ; 

The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told 

In  groves  of  oak  or  fanes  of  gold 

Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 

Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind.  60 

One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 

I  know  what  say  the  Fathers  wise, — 

The  book  itself  before  me  lies, — 

Old  Chrysostom,  best  Augustine,  65 

And  he  who  blent  both  in  his  line, 

The  younger  Golden  Lips '  or  mines, 

Taylor,  the  Shakespeare  of  divines ; 

His  words  are  music  in  my  ear, 

I  see  his  cowled  portrait  dear,  ?° 

And  yet,  for  all  his  faith  could  see, 

I  would  not  the  good  bishop  be. 

1  Chrysostom  means  in  Greek  golden  mouth. 


XXXI. 

NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 

i 804- i 864. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  GEORGE  B.  SMITH.1 

i.  The  growth  of  the  modern  novel  has  been  marked  by  many 
changes  and  developments,  but  it  may  be  said  that  its  psycholog- 
ical interest  was  first  exhibited  in  a  very  high  degree  by  Haw- 

1  From  Poets  and  Moralists,  by  George  B.  Smith. 


456  HAWTHORNE. 

thorne.  His  deep  study  of  the  soul  had  scarcely  been  equalled 
before  by  writers  of  fiction.  His  stones  do  not,  of  course,  dis- 
play all  the  gifts  which  we  witness  in  profusion  in  such  men  as 
Fielding  and  Scott ;  but  in  their  deep  concentration  of  thought 
upon  the  motives  and  the  spirit  of  man,  they  stand  almost 
alone. 

2.  Compared  with  the  writers  of  his  own  country,  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  assigning  his  proper  position  as  a  novelist  to  this  il- 
lustrious writer.     He  has  no  equal.     It  is  rare  to  meet  with  his 
artistic  qualities  anywhere ;  it  is  rarer  still  to  find  them  united 
to  the  earnestness  which  so  distinguished  him.     Whether  as  the 
result  of  an  inheritance  of  the  old  Puritan  blood  or  not  matters 
little,  but  in  him  there  was  apparently  a  sincerity  truly  refresh- 
ing among  so  many  writers  whose  gifts  have  been  vitiated  by 
the  lack  thereof.     Admirably  did  Russell  Lowell   depict  him 
when  he  wrote  the  following  lines  in  his  Fable  for  Critics : 

"  There  is  Hawthorne,  with  genius  so  shrinking  and  rare 
That  you  hardly  at  first  see  the  strength  that  is  there; 
A  frame  so  robust,  with  a  nature  so  sweet, 
So  earnest,  so  graceful,  so  solid,  so  fleet, 
Is  worth  a  descent  from  Olympus  to  meet : 
'Tis  as  if  a  rough  oak  that  for  ages  had  stood, 
With  his  gnarled  bony  branches  like  ribs  of  the  wood, 
Should  bloom,  after  cycles  of  struggle  and  scathe, 
With  a  single  anemone  trembly  and  rathe. 
His  strength  is  so  tender,  his  wildness  so  meek, 
That  a  suitable  parallel  sets  one  to  seek. 
He's  a  John  Bunyan   Fouque,  a  Puritan  Tieck : 
When  Nature  was  shaping  him,  clay  was  not  granted 
For  making  so  full-sized  a  man  as  she  wanted, 
So,  to  fill  out  her  model,  a  little  she  spared 
From  some  finer-grained  stuff  for  a  woman  prepared. 
And  she  could  not  have  hit  a  more  excellent  plan 
For  making  him  fully  and  perfectly  man." 

3.  That  Hawthorne  will  ever  be  what  we  call  a  very  popular 
novelist  is  open  to  much  doubt.     The  habits  of  abstraction  to 
which  he  was  accustomed  from  his  boyhood  had  their  influence 
upon  his  thought,  which  is  not  always  expressed  in  a  manner 
adapted  to  the  average  reader.     At  times  he  appears  to  be  liv- 
ing away  from  the  world  altogether  ;  and  society  likes  now  what 
is  concrete,  something  which  it  can  handle  and  appraise,  whether 


SMITH'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  HAWTHORNE. 


457 


in  literature,  science,  or  art.  He  had  a  shrinking  from  the  lion- 
izing which  is  done  on  trust,  that  unpleasant  phase  which  has 
crept  over  society  during  the  last  few  years.  The  principle  of 
giving  the  highest  praise  to  the  man  who  can  play  the  loudest 
on  the  big  drum  was  a  hateful  one  to  him.  A  silent  rebuke  to 
the  fussiness  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  to  its  fulsome  adu- 
lation of  what  is  unworthy,  may  be  traced  in  his  pages.  This 
man  had  a  strong  and  fearless  spirit,  and  though  he  discussed 
questions  occasionally  which  have  been  found  too  high  for 
settlement  in  all  ages,  he  did  so  with  humility  and  on  reverent 
knee. 

4.  Hawthorne  had  unquestionably,  moreover,  a  strong  poetic 
element  in  his  nature,  sublimated  by  constant  contact  with  the 
various  forms  of  sorrow.  Through  worldly  loss  he  came  to  an 
insight  into  spiritual  truths  to  which  he  might  otherwise  have 
been  a  stranger.  At  times  he  appears  almost  to  distrust  men, 
but  it  is  never  really  so ;  he  laments  man's  indecision  for  the 
right,  the  evil  growths  which  enwrap  his  soul,  and  that  dark  veil 
of  sin  which  hides  from  him  the  smiling  face  of  his  Creator. 
"  Poet  let  us  call  him,"  with  Longfellow ;  but  greater  still,  an  in- 
terpreter, through  whose  allegories  and  awe-inspiring  creations 
breathes  the  soul  that  longs  after  the  accomplishment  of  the 
dream  of  unnumbered  centuries,  the  brotherhood  of  man.  The 
world  has  been  enriched  by  his  genius,  which  is  as  a  flower  whose 
fragrance  is  shed  upon  man,  but  whose  roots  rest  with  God. 


458  HAWTHORNE. 

FROM  THE   SCARLET  LETTER. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  selections  here  given  form  the  first  two  chapters  of 
Hawthorne's  unique  romance  of  the  Scarlet  Letter.  Says  Mr.  H.  T.  Tucker- 
man  :  "  In  truth  to  costume,  local  manners,  and  scenic  features,  the  Scarlet  Let- 
ter is  as  reliable  as  the  best  of  Scott's  novels ;  in  the  anatomy  of  human  pas- 
sion and  consciousness  it  resembles  the  most  effective  of  Balzac's  illustrations 
of  Parisian  or  provincial  life  ;  while  in  developing  bravely  and  justly  the  sen- 
timent of  the  life  it  depicts,  it  is  as  true  to  humanity  as  Dickens."] 

I.— THE  PRISON-DOOR. 

1.  A  throng  of  bearded  men,  in  sad -colored  garments,  and 
gray  steeple-crowned  hats,  intermixed  with  women,  some  wearing 
hoods,  and  others  bareheaded,  was  assembled  in  front  of  a  wood- 
en edifice,  the  door  of  which  was  heavily  timbered  with  oak  and 
studded  with  iron  spikes.  5 

2.  The  founders  of  a  new  colony,  whatever  Utopia*  of  human 
virtue  and  happiness  they  might  originally  project,  have  invari- 
ably recognized  it  among  their  earliest  practical  necessities  to 
allot  a  portion  of  the  virgin  soil  as  a  cemetery,  and  another  por- 
tion as  the  site  of  a  prison.    In  accordance  with  this  rule,  it  may  10 
safely  be  assumed  that  the  forefathers  of  Boston  had  built  the 
first  prison-house,  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Cornhill,  almost 
as  seasonably  as  they  marked  out  the  first  burial-ground  on 
Isaac  Johnson's  lot,  and  round  about  his  grave,  which  subse- 
quently became  the  nucleus  of  all  the  congregated  sepulchres  in  15 
the  old  church-yard  of  King's  Chapel.     Certain  it  is  that,  some 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  after  the  settlement  of  the  town,  the  wood- 
en jail  was  already  marked  with  weather-stains  and  other  indica- 
tions of  age,  which  gave  a  yet  darker  aspect  to  its  beetle-browed 
and  gloomy  front.     The  rust  on  the  ponderous  iron-work  of  its  20 
oaken  door  looked  more  antique  than  anything  else  in  the  New 
World.     Like  all  that  pertains  to  crime,  it  seemed  never  to  have 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1-5.  A  throng . . .  spikes.     Analyze  this  sentence. 
6.  Utopia.     Etymology? 

8.  it.     What  is  the  logical  subject  represented  by  the  anticipative  subject 
it?" 

16.  Certain  it  is.     Remark  on  the  order  of  words. 
19.  beetle-browed.     Literal  or  figurative  ? 


FROM  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.  459 

known  a  youthful  era.  Before  this  ugly  edifice,  and  between  it 
and  the  wheel-track  of  the  street,  was  a  grass-plot,  much  over- 
grown with  burdock,  pigweed,  apple -peru,  and  such  unsightly  25 
vegetation,  which  evidently  found  something  congenial  in  the 
soil  that  had  so  early  borne  the  black  flower  of  civilized  society,  a 
prison.  But  on  one  side  of  the  portal,  and  rooted  almost  at  the 
threshold,  was  a  wild  rose-bush,  covered,  in  this  month  of  June, 
with  its  delicate  gems,  which  might  be  imagined  to  offer  their  3= 
fragrance  and  fragile  beauty  to  the  prisoner  as  he  went  in,  and 
to  the  condemned  criminal  as  he  came  forth  to  his  doom,  in  token 
that  the  deep  heart  of  Nature  could  pity  and  be  kind  to  him. 

3.  This  rose-bush,  by  a  strange  chance,  has  been  kept  alive  in 
history ;  but  whether  it  had  merely  survived  out  of  the  stern  old  35 
wilderness,  so  long  after  the  fall  of  the  gigantic  pines  and  oaks 
that  originally  overshadowed  it,  or  whether,  as  there  is  fair  au- 
thority for  believing,  it  had  sprung  up  under  the  footsteps  of  the 
sainted  Ann  Hutchinson  as  she  entered  the  prison-door,  we  shall 
not  take  upon  us  to  determine.     Finding  it  so  directly  on  the  40 
threshold  of  cur  narrative,  which  is  now  about  to  issue  from  that 
inauspicious  portal,  we  could  hardly  do  otherwise  than  pluck  one 
of  its  flowers  and  present  it  to  the  reader.     It  may  serve,  let  us 
hope,  to  symbolize  some  sweet  moral  blossom  that  may  be  found 
along  the  track,  or  relieve  the  darkening  close  of  a  tale  of  human  45 
frailty  and  sorrow. 

II.— THE   MARKET-PLACE. 

i.  The  grass-plot  before  the  jail,  in  Prison  Lane,  on  a  certain 
summer  morning,  not  less  than  two  centuries  ago,  was  occupied 
by  a  pretty  large  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  Boston,  all  with 
their  eyes  intently  fastened  on  the  iron -clamped  oaken  door.  5C 
Among  any  other  population,  or  at  a  later  period  in  the  history 
of  New  England,  the  grim  rigidity  that  petrified*  the  bearded 
physiognomies  of  these  good  people  would  have  augured*  some 
awful  business  in  hand.  It  could  have  betokened  nothing  short  of 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 23.  known  .  .  .  era.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
23-28.  Before  .  .  .  prison.     What  is  the  structure  —  periodic  or  loose? — 
Point  out  a  striking  metaphor  in  this  sentence. 
42.  inauspicious  portal.     Explain. 

52.  petrified.     What  is  the  figure? — Etymology? 

53,  54.  augured  .  .  .  betokened.     Discriminate  between  these  synonyms. 


46o  HA  WTHORNE. 

the  anticipated  execution  of  some  noted  culprit  on  whom  the  sen-  ss 
tence  of  a  legal  tribunal  had  but  confirmed  the  verdict  of  public 
sentiment.     But,  in  that  early  severity  of  the  Puritan  character, 
an  inference  of  this  kind  could  not  so  indubitably  be  drawn.     It 
might  be  that  a  sluggish  bond -servant,  or  an  undutiful  child 
whom  his  parents  had  given  over  to  the  civil  authority,  was  to  be  6c 
corrected  at  the  whipping-post.    It  might  be  that  an  Antinomian, 
a  Quaker,  or  other  heterodox  religionist  was  to  be  scourged  out 
of  the  town,  or  an  idle  and  vagrant  Indian,  whom  the  white  man's 
fire-water  had  made  riotous  about  the  streets,  was  to  be  driven 
with  stripes  into  the  shadow  of  the  forest.    It  might  be,  too,  that  65 
a  witch,  like  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  bitter-tempered  widow  of 
the  magistrate,  was  to  die  upon  the  gallows.     In  either  case, 
there  was  very  much  the  same  solemnity  of  demeanor  on  the 
part  of  the  spectators ;  as  befitted  a  people  among  whom  relig- 
ion and  law  were  almost  identical,  and  in  whose  character  both  7° 
were  so  thoroughly  interfused  that  the  mildest  and  the  severest 
acts  of  public  discipline  were  alike  made  venerable  and  awful. 
Meagre,  indeed,  and  cold,  was  the  sympathy  that  a  transgressor 
might  look  for,  from  such  bystanders,  at  the  scaffold.     On  the 
other  hand,  a  penalty  which  in  our  days  would  infer  a  degree  of  75 
mocking  infamy  and  ridicule  might  then  be  invested  with  almost 
as  stern  a  dignity  as  the  punishment  of  death  itself. 

2.  It  was  a  circumstance  to  be  noted,  on  the  summer  morning 
when  our  story  begins  its  course,  that  the  women,  of  whom  there 
were  several  in  the  crowd,  appeared  to  take  a  peculiar  interest  in  &s 
whatever  penal  infliction  might  be  expected  to  ensue.  The  age 
had  not  so  much  refinement  that  any  sense  of  impropriety  re- 
strained the  wearers  of  petticoat  and  farthingale  from  stepping 
forth  into  the  public  ways,  and  wedging  their  not  unsubstantial 
persons,  if  occasion  were,  into  the  throng  nearest  to  the  scaffold  85 
at  an  execution.  Morally  as  well  as  materially,  there  was  a 
coarser  fibre  in  those  wives  and  maidens  of  old  English  birth 
and  breeding  than  in  their  fair  descendants,  separated  from 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 61-67.  It...  gallows.      What  inferences  may  be 
drawn  from  this  passage  as  to  the  penal  laws  of  the  Puritans  ? 
67.  either.     Query  as  to  this  word. 

73,  74.  Meagre  .  .  .  scaffold.     Arrange  in  the  direct  order. 
87.  coarser  fibre.     Explain. 


FROM   THE  SCARLET  LETTER.  461 

them  by  a  series  of  six  or  seven  generations ;  for,  throughout 
that  chain  of  ancestry,  every  successive  mother  has  transmitted  90 
to  her  child  a  fainter  bloom,  a  more  delicate  and  briefer  beauty, 
and  a  slighter  physical  frame,  if  not  a  character  of  less  force  and 
solidity,  than  her  own.     The  women  who  were  now  standing 
about  the  prison-door  stood  within  less  than  half  a  century  of 
the  period  when  the  man-like  Elizabeth  had  been  the  not  alto-  95 
gether  unsuitable  representative   of  the  sex.     They  were  her 
countrywomen  ;   and  the  beef  and  ale  of  their  native  land,  with 
a  moral  diet  not  a  whit  more  refined,  entered  largely  into  their 
composition.      The   bright   morning  sun,  therefore,  shone    on 
broad  shoulders  and  -well-developed  busts,  and  on  round  and  100 
ruddy  cheeks,  that  had  ripened  in  the  far-off  island,  and  had 
hardly  yet  grown  paler  or  thinner  in  the  atmosphere  of  New 
England.     There  was,  moreover,  a  boldness  and    rotundity  of 
speech  among  these  matrons,  as  most  of  them  seemed  to  be, 
that  would  startle  us  at  the  present  day,  whether  in  respect  to  105 
its  purport  or  its  volume  of  tone. 

3.  "  Goodwives,"  said  a  hard-featured  dame  of  fifty,  "  I'll  tell  ye 
a  piece  of  my  mind.     It  would  be  greatly  for  the  public  behoof 
if  we  women,  being  of  mature  age  and  church-members  in  good 
repute,  should  have  the  handling  of  such  malef actresses  as  this  no 
Hester  Prynne.    What  think  ye,  gossips  ?*     If  the  hussy  *  stood 
up  for  judgment  before  us  five,  that  are  now  here  in  a  knot  to- 
gether, would  she  come  off  with  such  a  sentence  as  the  worship 
ful  magistrates  have  awarded  ?     Marry,  I  trow  not !" 

4.  "  People  say,"  said  another,  "  that  the  Reverend  Master  115 
Dimmesdale,  her  godly  pastor,  takes  it  very  grievously  to  heart 
that  such  a  scandal  should  have  come  upon  his  congregation." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 95,  96.  not  altogether  unsuitable,  etc.  What  is  the 
figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  31.) 

97.  the  beef  and  ale,  etc.     For  what  generic  term  are  these  words  used  ? 

100.  broad  shoulders,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?    (See  Def.  28.) 

7.01.  ripened.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

103,  104.  rotundity  of  speech.  By  what  other  expression  in  this  sentence  is 
this  idea  conveyed  ? 

107-114.  Goodwives  ...  not!  Point  out  antique  words  and  constructions. — 
Etymology  of  "  gossips  ?"  Of  "  hussy  ?" 

115.  Master.     Remark  on  this  use  of  the  word. 


462  HAWTHORNE. 

5.  "  The  magistrates  are  God-fearing  gentlemen,  but  merciful 
overmuch  —  that  is  a  truth,"  added  a  third  autumnal  matron. 

"  At  the  very  least,  they  should  have  put  the  brand  of  a  hot  iron  120 
on    Hester  Prynne's  forehead.       Madam    Hester   would   have 
winced  at  that,  I  warrant  me.     But  she  —  the  naughty  baggage 
— little  will  she  care  what  they  put  upon  the  bodice  of  her 
gown  !     Why,  look  you,  she  may  cover  it  with  a  brooch,  or  such 
like  heathenish  adornment,  and  so  walk  the  streets  as  brave  as  1^5 
ever !" 

6.  "  Ah,  but,"  interposed,  more  softly,  a  young  wife  holding  a 
child  by  the  hand,  "  let  her  cover  the  mark  as  she  will,  the  pang 
of  it  will  be  always  in  her  heart." 

7.  "  What  do  we  talk  of  marks  and  brands,  whether  on  the  130 
bodice  of  her  gown  or  the  flesh  of  her  forehead  ?"  cried  another 
female,  the  ugliest  as  well  as  the  most  pitiless  of  these  self-con- 
stituted judges.     "  This  woman  has  brought  shame  upon  us  all, 
and  ought  to  die.     Is  there  not  law  for  it  ?     Truly  there  is,  both 

in  the  Scripture  and  the  statute-book.    Then  let  the  magistrates,  135 
who  have  made  it  of  no  effect,  thank  themselves  if  their  own 
wives  and  daughters  go  astray  !" 

8.  "  Mercy  on  us,  goodwife,'  exclaimed  a  man  in  the  crowd, "is 
there  no  virtue  in  woman  save  what  springs  from  a  wholesome 
fear  of  the  gallows  ?    That  is  the  hardest  word  yet !    Hush,  now,  140 
gossips!  for  the  lock  is  turning  in  the  prison -door,  and  here 
comes  Mistress  Prynne  herself." 

9.  The  door  of  the  jail  being  flung  open  from  within,  there  ap- 
peared in  the  first  place,  like  a  black  shadow  emerging  into  sun- 
shine, the  grim  and  grisly  presence  of  the  town-beadle,  with  a  MS 
sword  by  his  side,  and  his  staff  of  office  in  his  hand.     This  per- 
sonage prefigured  and  represented  in  his  aspect  the  whole  dis- 
mal severity  of  the  Puritanic  code  of  law,  which  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  administer  in  its  final  and  closest  application  to  the  of- 
fender.    Stretching  forth  the  official  staff  in  his  left  hand,  he  i5c 
laid  his  right  upon   the   shoulder  of  a  young  woman,  whom 
he  thus  drew  forward,  until,  on  the  threshold  of  the  prison- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1 19.  autumnal  matron.     Explain  the  epithet. 
143-146.  The  door  . . .  hand.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? 
144.  like  a  black,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 


FROM  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


463 


door,  she  repelled  him  by  an  action  marked  with  natural  digni- 
ty and  force  of  character,  and  stepped  into  the  open  air  as  if 
by  her  own  free-will.  She  bore  in  her  arms  a  child,  a  baby  of  155 
some  three  months  old,  who  winked  and  turned  aside  its  little 
face  from  the  too  vivid  light  of  day ;  because  its  existence,  here- 
tofore, had  brought  it  acquainted  only  with  the  gray  twilight  of  a 
dungeon  or  other  darksome  apartment  of  the  prison. 

10.  When  the  young  woman — the  mother  of  this  child — stood  160 
fully  revealed  before  the  crowd,  it  seemed  to  be  her  first  impulse 
to  clasp  the  infant  closely  to  her  bosom ;  not  so  much  by  an  im- 
pulse of  motherly  affection  as  that  she  might  thereby  conceal  a 
certain  token  which  was  wrought  or  fastened  into  her  dress.     In 

a  moment,  however,  wisely  judging  that  one  token  of  her  shame  165 
would  but  poorly  serve  to  hide  another,  she  took  the  baby  on 
her  arm,  and,  with  a  burning  blush,  and  yet  a  haughty  smile,  and 
a  glance  that  would  not  be  abashed,  looked  around  at  her  towns- 
people and  neighbors.     On  the  breast  of  her  gown,  in  fine  red 
cloth,  surrounded  with  an  elaborate  embroidery  and  fantastic  17° 
flourishes  of  gold  thread,  appeared  the  letter  A.    It  was  so  artis- 
tically done,  and  with  so  much  fertility  and  gorgeous  luxuriance 
of  fancy,  that  it  had  all  the  effect  of  a  last  and  fitting  decoration 
to  the  apparel  which  she  wore,  and  which  was  of  a  splendor  in 
accordance  with  the  taste  of  the  age,  but  greatly  beyond  what  175 
was  allowed  by  the  sumptuary  regulations  of  the  colony. 

11.  The  young  woman  was  tall,  with  a  figure  of  perfect  elegance 
on  a  large  scale.     She  had  dark  and  abundant  hair,  so  glossy 
that  it  threw  off  the  sunshine  with  a  gleam,  and  a  face  which,  be- 
sides being  beautiful  from  regularity  of  feature  and  richness  of  180 
complexion,  had  the  impressiveness  belonging  to  a  marked  brow 
and  deep-black  eyes.     She  was  lady-like,  too,  after  the  manner 
of  the  feminine  gentility  of  those  days ;  characterized  by  a  cer- 
tain state  and  dignity  rather  than  by  the  delicate,  evanescent, 
and  indescribable  grace  which  is  now  recognized  as  its  indica- 185 
tion.     And  never  had  Hester  Prynne  appeared  more  lady-like, 

in  the  antique  interpretation  of  the  term,  than  as  she  issued  from 
the  prison.   Those  who  had  before  known  her,  and  had  expected 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 176.  sumptuary  regulations.    Explain. 
178.  on  a  large  scale.     Adiunct  to  what  word  ? 


464  HA  WTHORNE. 

to  behold  her  dimmed  and  obscured  by  a  disastrous  cloud,  were 
astonished,  and  even  startled,  to  perceive  how  her  beauty  shone  19° 
out,  and  made  a  halo  of  the  misfortune  and  ignominy  in  which 
she  was  enveloped.     It  may  be  true  that,  to  a  sensitive  observer, 
there  was  something  exquisitely  painful  in  it.     Her  attire,  which, 
indeed,  she  had  wrought  for  the  occasion  in  prison,  and  had 
modelled  much  after  her  own  fancy,  seemed  to  express  the  atti- 195 
tude  of  her  spirit,  the  desperate  recklessness  of  her  mood,  by  its 
wild  and  picturesque  peculiarity.     But  the  point  which  drew  all 
eyes,  and,  as  it  were,  transfigured  the  wearer,  so  that  both  men 
and  women  who  had  been  familiarly  acquainted  with   Hester 
Prynne  were  now  impressed  as  if  they  beheld  her  for  the  first  200 
time,  was  that  SCARLET  LETTER  so  fantastically  embroidered 
and  illuminated  upon  her  bosom.     It  had  the  effect  of  a  spell,* 
taking  her  out  of  the  ordinary  relations  with  humanity  and  en 
closing  her  in  a  sphere  by  herself. 

12.  "She  hath  good  skill  at  her  needle,  that's  certain,"  re- 205 
marked  one  of  her  female  spectators ;  "  but  did  ever  a  woman, 
before  this  brazen  hussy,  contrive  such  a  way  of  showing  it ! 
Why,  gossips,  what  is  it  but  to  laugh  in  the  faces  of  our  godly 
magistrates,  and  make  a  pride  out  of  what  they,  worthy  gen- 
tlemen, meant  for  a  punishment  ?"  210 

13.  "  It  were  well,"  muttered  the  most  iron-visaged  of  the  old 
dames,  "  if  we  stripped  Madam  Hester's  rich  gown  off  her  dain- 
ty shoulders ;  and  as  for  the  red  letter,  which  she  hath  stitched 
so  curiously,  I'll  bestow  a  rag  of  mine  own  rheumatic  flannel  to 
make  a  fitter  one  !"  215 

14.  "Oh,  peace,  neighbors,  peace!"  whispered  their  youngest 
companion ;  "  do  not  let  her  hear  you !     Not  a  stitch  in  that 
embroidered  letter  but  she  has  felt  it  in  her  heart." 

15.  The  grim  beadle  now  made  a  gesture  with  a  staff. 

"  Make  way,  good  people,  make  way,  in  the  king's  name  !"  aac 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 189.  dimmed  and  obscured,  etc.  What  is  the  figure 
of  speech  ? — What  expression  finely  contrasts  with  this  phrase  ? 

196,  197.  by  Its  ...  peculiarity.  Improve  the  sentence  by  placing  this  phrase 
nearer  the  word  it  modifies. 

202.  spell.     Etymology  ? 

214.  curiously.     Remark  on  this  use  of  the  word. 

217,  218.  Not  a  stitch  .  . .  heart.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 


FROM   THE  SCARLET  LETTER.  465 

cried  he.  "  Open  a  passage  ;  and,  I  promise  ye,  Mistress  Prynne 
shall  be  set  where  man,  woman,  and  child  may  have  a  fair  sight 
of  her  brave  apparel,  from  this  time  till  an  hour  past  meridian. 
A  blessing  on  the  righteous  Colony  of  the  Massachusetts,  where 
iniquity  is  dragged  out  into  the  sunshine  !  Come  along,  Madam  225 
Hester,  and  show  your  scarlet  letter  in  the  market-place  !" 

1 6.  A  lane  was  forthwith  opened  through  the  crowd  of  specta- 
tors.   Preceded  by  the  beadle,  and  attended  by  an  irregular  pro- 
cession of  stern-browed  men  and  unkindly  visaged  women,  Hester 
Prynne  set  forth  towards  the  place  appointed  for  her  punishment.  230 
A  crowd  of  eager  and  curious  schoolboys,  understanding  little  of 
the  matter  in  hand,  except  that  it  gave  them  a  half -holiday,  ran 
before  her  progress,  turning  their  heads  continually  to  stare  into 
her  face,  and  at  the  winking  baby  in  her  arms,  and  at  the  igno- 
minious letter  on  her  breast.     It  was  no  great  distance,  in  those  235 
days,  from  the  prison-door  to  the  market-place.     Measured  by 
the  prisoner's  experience,  however,  it  might  be  reckoned  a  jour- 
ney of  some  length ;  for,  haughty  as  her  demeanor  was,  she  per- 
chance underwent  an  agony  from  every  footstep  of  those  that 
thronged  to  see  her,  as  if  her  heart  had  been  flung  into  the  240 
street  for  them  all  to  spurn  and  trample  upon.     In  our  nature, 
however,  there  is  a  provision,  alike  marvellous  and  merciful,  that 
the  sufferer  should  never  know  the  intensity  of  what  he  endures 
by  its  present  torture,  but  chiefly  by  the  pang  that  rankles  after 
it.     With  almost  a  serene  deportment,  therefore,  Hester  Prynne  245 
passed  through  this  portion  of  her  ordeal,  and  came  to  a  sort  of 
scaffold,  at  the  western  extremity  of  the  market-place.     It  stood 
nearly  beneath  the   eaves  of  Boston's  earliest  church,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  a  fixture  there. 

17.  In  fact,  this  scaffold  constituted  a  portion  of  a  penal  ma- 250 
chine,which  now,  for  two  or  three  generations  past,  has  been  mere- 
ly historical  and  traditionary  among  us,  but  was  held  in  the  old 
time  to  be  as  effectual  an  agent  in  the  promotion  of  good  citi- 
zenship as  ever  was  the  guillotine  among  the  Terrorists  of  France. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 223.  brave.     In  what  sense  is  the  word  here  used  ? 
227-249.  In  this  paragraph  point  out  examples  of  vigorous  or  felicitous  use 
of  language. 

254.  guillotine.     History  of  this  word  ?     (See  p.  428.) 

3° 


466  HA  WTHORNE. 

It  was,  in  short,  the  platform  of  the  pillory;  and  above  it  rose 255 
the  framework  of  that  instrument  of  discipline,  so  fashioned  as 
to  confine  the  human  head  in  its  tight  grasp,  and  thus  hold  it  up 
to  the  public  gaze.     The  very  ideal  of  ignominy  was  embodied 
and  made  manifest  in  this  contrivance  of  wood  and  iron.    There 
can  be  no  outrage,  methinks,  against  our  common  nature,  what-  260 
ever  be  the  delinquencies  of  the  individual — no  outrage  more 
flagrant  than  to  forbid  the  culprit  to  hide  his  face  for  shame, 
as  it  was  the   essence  of  this  punishment  to    do.     In   Hester 
Prynne's  instance,  however,  as  not  unfrequently  in  other  cases, 
her  sentence  bore  that  she  should  stand  a  certain  time  upon  the  265 
platform,  but  without  undergoing  that  gripe  about  the  neck  and 
confinement  of  the  head  the  proneness  to  which  was  the  most 
devilish  characteristic  of  this  ugly  engine.     Knowing  well  her 
part,  she  ascended  a  flight  of  wooden  steps,  and  was  thus  dis- 
played to  the  surrounding  multitude,  at  about  the  height  of  a  270 
man's  shoulders  above  the  street. 

1 8.  Had  there  been  a  Papist  among  the  crowd  of  Puritans,  he 
might  have  seen  in  this  beautiful  woman,  so  picturesque  in  her 
attire  and  mien,  and  with  the  infant  at  her  bosom,  an  object  to 
remind  him  of  the  image  of  Divine  Maternity,  which  so  many  il-  275 
lustrious  painters  have  vied  with  one  another  to  represent ;  some- 
thing which  should  remind  him,  indeed,  but  only  by  contrast,  of 
that  sacred  image  of  sinless  motherhood  whose  infant  was  to  re- 
deem the  world.     Here  there  was  the  taint  of  deepest  sin  in  the 
most  sacred  quality  of  human  life,  working  such  effect  that  the  280 
world  was  only  the  darker  for  this  woman's  beauty,  and  the  more 
lost  for  the  infant  that  she  had  borne. 

19.  The  scene  was  not  without  a  mixture  of  awe,  such  as  must 
always  invest  the  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame  in  a  fellow-creature 
before  society  shall  have  grown  corrupt  enough  to  smile,  instead  235 
of  shuddering,  at  it.    The  witnesses  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace 
had  not  yet  passed  beyond  their  simplicity.     They  were  stern 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 255.  pillory.  By  what  periphrases  does  the  author 
afterwards  indicate  the  pillory  ? 

260.  methinks.     What  is  the  subject  ? 

272-279.  Had  . . .  world.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ? 

275.  Maternity.  What  Anglo-Saxon  synonym  of  this  Latin  term  is  used  m 
this  sentence  ? 


FROM  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


467 


enough  to  look  upon  her  death,  had  that  been  the  sentence,  with- 
out a  murmur  at  its  severity,  but  had  none  of  the  heartlessness 
of  another  social  state,  which  would  find  only  a  theme  for  jest  in  290 
an  exhibition  like  the  present.  Even  had  there  been  a  disposi- 
tion to  turn  the  matter  into  ridicule,  it  must  have  been  repressed 
and  overpowered  by  the  solemn  presence  of  men  no  less  digni- 
fied than  the  Governor,  and  several  of  his  counsellors,  a  judge, 
a  general,  and  the  ministers  of  the  town ;  all  of  whom  sat  or  295 
stood  in  the  balcony  of  the  meeting-house,  looking  down  upon 
the  platform.  When  such  personages  could  constitute  a  part  of 
the  spectacle  without  risking  the  majesty  or  reverence  of  rank 
and  office,  it  was  safely  to  be  inferred  that  the  infliction  of  a 
legal  sentence  would  have  an  earnest  and  effectual  meaning.  300 
Accordingly,  the  crowd  was  sombre  and  grave.  The  unhappy 
culprit  sustained  herself  as  best  a  woman  might,  under  the  heavy 
weight  of  a  thousand  unrelenting  eyes,  all  fastened  upon  her, 
and  concentrated  at  her  bosom.  It  was  almost  intolerable  to  be 
borne.  Of  an  impulsive  and  passionate  nature,  she  had  fortified  305 
herself  to  encounter  the  stings  and  venomous  stabs  of  public 
contumely,  wreaking  itself  in  every  variety  of  insult ;  but  there 
was  a  quality  so  much  more  terrible  in  the  solemn  mood  of  the 
popular  mind  that  she  longed  rather  to  behold  all  those  rigid 
countenances  contorted  with  scornful  merriment,  and  herself  the  310 
object.  Had  a  roar  of  laughter  burst  from  the  multitude — each 
man,  each  woman,  each  little  shrill-voiced  child,  contributing 
their  individual  parts — Hester  Prynne  might  have  repaid  them 
all  with  a  bitter  and  disdainful  smile.  But,  under  the  leaden  in- 
fliction which  it  was  her  doom  to  endure,  she  felt,  at  moments,  as  3 15 
if  she  must  needs  shriek  out  with  the  full  power  of  her  lungs, 
and  cast  herself  from  the  scaffold  down  upon  the  ground,  or  else 
go  mad  at  once. 

20.  Yet  there  were  intervals  when  the  whole  scene,  in  which  she 
was  the  most  conspicuous  object,  seemed  to  vanish  from  her  320 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 301.  sombre  and  grave.  Discriminate  between  these 
synonyms. 

304,  305.  intolerable  to  be  borne.  What  violation  of  precision  in  this  ex- 
pression ? 

313.  their.     Query  as  to  this  word. 

314,  315.  leaden  infliction.     Explain  the  epithet 


468  HA  WTHORNE. 

eyes,  or,  at  least,  glimmered  indistinctly  before  them,  like  a  mass 
of  imperfectly  shaped  and  spectral  images.  Her  mind,  and  es- 
pecially her  memory,  was  preternaturally  active,  and  kept  bring- 
ing up  other  scenes  than  this  roughly  hewn  street  of  a  little 
town,  on  the  edge  of  the  Western  wilderness ;  other  faces  than  325 
were  lowering  upon  her  from  beneath  the  brims  of  those  steeple- 
crowned  hats.  Reminiscences  the  most  trifling  and  immaterial, 
passages  of  infancy  and  school-days,  sports,  childish  quarrels, 
and  the  little  domestic  traits  of  her  maiden  years  came  swarm- 
ing back  upon  her,  intermingled  with  recollections  of  whatever  330 
was  gravest  in  her  subsequent  life;  one  picture  precisely  as 
vivid  as  another,  as  if  all  were  of  similar  importance,  or  all 
alike  a  play.  Possibly  it  was  an  instinctive  device  of  her  spirit, 
to  relieve  itself,  by  the  exhibition  of  these  phantasmagoric  forms, 
from  the  cruel  weight  and  hardness  of  the  reality.  335 

21.  Be  that  as  it  might,  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory  was  a  point  of 
view  that  revealed  to  Hester  Prynne  the  entire  track  along  which 
she  had  been  treading  since  her  happy  infancy.  Standing  on 
that  miserable  eminence,  she  saw  again  her  native  village,  in  old 
England,  and  her  paternal  home — a  decayed  house  of  gray  340 
stone,  with  a  poverty-stricken  aspect,  but  retaining  a  half-obliter- 
ated shield  of  arms  over  the  portal,  in  token  of  antique  gentility. 
She  saw  her  father's  face,  with  its  bald  brow,  and  reverend  white 
beard  that  flowed  over  the  old-fashioned  Elizabethan  ruff ;  her 
mother's,  too,  with  the  look  of  heedful  and  anxious  love  which  345 
it  always  wore  in  her  remembrance,  and  which,  even  since  her 
death,  had  so  often  laid  the  impediment  of  a  gentle  remonstrance 
in  her  daughter's  pathway.  She  saw  her  own  face,  glowing  with 
girlish  beauty,  and  illuminating  all  the  interior  of  the  dusky  mir- 
ror in  which  she  had  been  wont  to  gaze  at  it.  There  she  be- 354 
held  another  countenance,  of  a  man  well  stricken  in  years,  a  pale, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 323.  was.    Justify  the  use  of  the  singular  verb. 

327-331.  Substitute  synonyms  for  the  following  italicized  words :  "Reminis- 
cences the  most  trifling  and  immaterial,  passages  of  infancy  and  school-days, 
sports,  childish  quarrels,  and  the  little  domestic  traits  of  her  maiden  years  came 
swarming  back  upon  her,  intermingled  with  recollections  of  whatever  was  grav- 
est in  her  subsequent  life." 

339.  miserable  eminence.     Explain. 

345.  heedful  and  anxious.     Discriminate  between  these  synonyms. 


FROM  THE   SCARLET  LETTER.  469 

thin,  scholar-like  visage,  with  eyes  dim  and  bleared  by  the  lamp- 
light that  had  served  them  to  pore  over  many  ponderous  books. 
Yet  those  same  bleared  optics  had  a  strange,  penetrating  power, 
when  it  was  their  owner's  purpose  to  read  the  human  soul.  355 
This  figure  of  the  study  and  the  cloister,  as  Hester  Prynne's 
womanly  fancy  failed  not  to  recall,  was  slightly  deformed,  with 
the  left  shoulder  a  trifle  higher  than  the  right.  Next  rose  be- 
fore her,  in  memory's  picture-gallery,  the  intricate  and  narrow 
thoroughfares,  the  tall  gray  houses,  the  huge  cathedrals,  and  the  360 
public  edifices,  ancient  in  date  and  quaint  in  architecture,  of  a 
Continental  city,  where  a  new  life  had  awaited  her,  still  in  con- 
nection with  the  misshapen  scholar — a  new  life,  but  feeding  itself 
on  time-worn  materials,  like  a  tuft  of  green  moss  on  a  crumbling 
wall.  Lastly,  in  lieu  of  these  shifting  scenes,  came  back  the  rude  365 
market-place  of  the  Puritan  settlement,  with  all  the  townspeople 
assembled  and  levelling  their  stern  regards  at  Hester  Prynne — 
yes,  at  herself,  who  stood  on  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory,  an  in- 
fant on  her  arm,  and  the  letter  A,  in  scarlet,  fantastically  em- 
broidered with  gold  thread  upon  her  bosom  !  370 

22.  Could  it  be  true  ?  She  clutched  the  child  so  fiercely  to  her 
breast  that  it  sent  forth  a  cry ;  she  turned  her  eyes  downward  at 
the  scarlet  letter,  and  even  touched  it  with  her  finger,  to  assure 
herself  that  the  infant  and  the  shame  were  real.  Yes! — these 
were  her  realities  ;  all  else  had  vanished !  375 


XXXII. 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

1807. 


» 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  GEORGE  W.  CURTIS. 

i.  If  we  care  to  explain  the  eager  and  affectionate  welcome 
which  always  hails  Longfellow's  writings,  it  is  easy  to  see  to 
what  general  quality  that  greeting  must  be  ascribed.  As  with 
Walter  Scott,  or  Victor  Hugo,  or  Beranger,  or  Dickens,  or  Addi- 


CURTIS'S   CHARACTERIZATION  OF  LONGFELLOW.     47  j 

son  in  the  Spectator,  or  Washington  Irving,  it  is  a  genial  human- 
ity. It  is  a  quality,  in  all  these  instances,  independent  of  liter- 
ary art  and  of  genius,  but  which  is  made  known  to  others,  and 
therefore  becomes  possible  to  be  recognized,  only  through  liter- 
ary forms. 

2.  The   creative    imagination,  the    airy   fancy,  the    exquisite 
grace,  harmony,  and  simplicity,  the  rhetorical  brilliancy,  the  in- 
cisive force,  all  the  intellectual  powers  and  charms  of  style  with 
which  that  feeling  may  be  expressed,  are  informed  and  vitalized 
by  the  sympathy  itself.    But  whether  a  man  who  writes  verse  has 
genius,  whether  he  be  a  poet  according  to  arbitrary  canons,  wheth- 
er some  of  his  lines  resemble  the  lines  of  other  writers,  and  wheth- 
er he  be  original,  are  questions  which  may  be  answered  in  every 
way  of  every  poet  in  history.     Who  is  a  poet  but  he  whom  the 
heart  of  man  permanently  accepts  as  a  singer  of  its  own  hopes, 
emotions,  and  thoughts  ?    And  what  is'  poetry  but  that  song  ?    If 
words  have  a  uniform  meaning,  it  is  useless  to  declare  that  Pope 
cannot  be  a  poet  if  Lord  Byron  is,  or  that  Moore  is  counterfeit 
if  Wordsworth  be  genuine.     For  the    art  of  poetry  is  like  all 
other  arts.    ^The  casket  that  Cellini  worked  is  not  less  genuine 
and  excellent  than  the  dome  of  Michael  Angelo.    Is  nobody  but 
Shakespeare  a  poet*?     Is  there  no  music  but  Beethoven's  ?     Is 
there  no  mountain -peak  but  Dhawalaghiri  ?      No  cataract  but 
Niagara  ? 

3.  While  the  magnetism  of  Longfellow's  touch  lies   in  the 
broad  humanity  of  his   sympathy,  which  leads  him   neither  to 
mysticism  nor  cynicism,  and  which  commends  his  poetry  to  the 
universal  heart,  his  artistic  sense  is  so  exquisite  that  each  of  his 
poems  is  a  valuable  literary  study.    In  these  he  has  now  reached 
a  perfection  quite  unrivalled  among  living  poets,  except,  some- 
times by  Tennyson.     His  literary  career  has  been  contemporary 
with  the  sensational  school,  but  he  has  been  entirely  untainted 
by  it.     The  literary  style  of  an  intellectually  introverted  age  or 
author  will  always  be   somewhat  obscure,  however  gorgeous ; 
but  Longfellow's  mind  takes  a  simple,  childlike  hold  of  life,  and 
his  style  never  betrays  the  inadequate  effort  to  describe  thoughts 
or  emotions  that  are  but  vaguely  perceived,  which  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  the  best  sensational  writing.     Indeed,  there  is  little 
poetry  by  the  eminent  contemporary  masters  which  is  so  ripe 


47  2  L  ONGFELL  O  W. 

and  racy  as  his.  He  does  not  make  rhetoric  stand  for  passion, 
nor  vagueness  for  profundity ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  is  he  such 
a  voluntary  and  malicious  "  Bohemian  "  as  to  conceive  that  ei- 
ther in  life  or  letters  a  man  is  released  from  the  plain  rules  of 
morality.  Indeed,  he  used  to  be  accused  of  preaching  in  his 
poetry  by  gentle  critics  who  held  that  Elysium  was  to  be  found 
in  an  oyster-cellar,  and  that  intemperance  was  the  royal  preroga- 
tive of  genius. 

4.  His  literary  scholarship,  also,  his  delightful  familiarity  with 
the  pure  literature  of  all  languages  and  times,  must  rank  Longfel- 
low among  the  learned  poets.  Yet  he  wears  this  various  knowl- 
edge like  a  shining  suit  of  chain-mail  to  adorn  and  strengthen 
his  gait,  like  Milton,  instead  of  tripping  and  clumsily  stumbling 
in  it,  as  Ben  Jonson  sometimes  did.  He  whips  out  an  exqui- 
sitely pointed  allusion  that  flashes  like  a  Damascus  rapier,  and 
strikes  nimbly  home  ;  or  he  recounts  some  weird  tradition,  or 
enriches  his  line  with  some  gorgeous  illustration  from  hidden 
stores ;  or  merely  unrolls,  as  Milton  loved  to  do,  the  vast  perspec- 
tive of  romantic  association  by  recounting,  in  measured  order, 
names  which  themselves  make  music  in  the  mind — names  not 
musical  only,  but  fragrant : 

"  Sabean  odors  from  the  spicy  shore 
Of  Araby  the  Blest." 


KERAMOS. 


473 


K^RAMOS. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  poem  of  Keramos  (Greek  keramos,  potter's  clay,  or 
earthenware)  is  a  very  effective  handling  in  verse  of  a  subject  not  seemingly 
very  promising — the  making  of  pottery.  It  belongs  to  the  same  class  of  poems 
as  The  Building  of  the  Ship,  and  is,  says  Mr.  R.  H.  Stoddard,  "  as  perfect  a 
piece  of  poetic  art  as  that  exquisite  poem."] 

1.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!    Turn  round  and  round 
Without  a  pause,  without  a  sound: 

So  spins  the  flying  world  away  / 
This  clay,  well  mixed  with  marl  and  sand, 
Follows  the  motion  of  my  hand; 
For  some  must  follow  and  some  command, 

Though  all  are  made  of  clay  ! 

2.  Thus  sang  the  Potter  at  his  task 
Beneath  the  blossoming  hawthorn-tree, 
While  o'er  his  features,  like  a  mask, 
The  quilted  sunshine  and  leaf  shade 
Moved,  as  the  boughs  above  him  swayed, 


NOTES. — Line  i.  my  wheel,  the  potter's 
lathe  or  "  throvving-wheel :"  it 
is  one  of  the  most  ancient  ma- 
chines, and  was  used  in  Egypt 
4000  years  ago. 

4.  clay .  .  .  marl.  "Clay"  is  the  base 
of  the  materials  for  all  kinds  of 


pottery.  "Marl"  enters  into 
the  composition  of  various  kinds 
of  porcelain,  such  as  old  Sevres 
china. 

7.  all  are  made  of  clay.  Compare  Jer- 
emiah xviii.,  6;  Romans  ix., 
21. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 1-7.  In  the  first  stanza,  who  is  represented  as  speak- 
ing or  singing  ? — It  will  be  noted  that  the  poet's  song  is  eight  times  interrupted 
by  a  melodious  interlude  from  the  potter.  The  effect  is  singularly  impressive ; 
for  the  composition  thus  assumes  the  character  of  a  fugue  in  which,  to  the 
airy  melody  in  celebration  of  the  potter's  art,  there  responds,  ever  and  anon,  a 
deeper  strain  of  world-tones,  admonishing  us  that  "all  are  made  of  clay." 

i.  Turn  .  .  .  wheel.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ? — What  figure  of 
speech  in  this  sentence  ?  (See  Def.  36.) — Turn.  What  are  the  modifiers  of 
this  verb  ? 

3.  So  ...  away !     Observe  the  grand  sweep  of  this  line. 

£-17.  Thus  .  .  .  flre.  Change  into  the  prose  order. — Is  the  structure  periodic 
or  loose  ? — In  this  sentence  point  out  a  simile  ;  a  metaphor. — Select  the  most 
felicitous  epithets. 


L  ON  G  FELL  O  W. 

And  clothed  him,  till  he  seemed  to  be 

A  figure  woven  in  tapestry,* 

So  sumptuously  was  he  arrayed  is 

In  that  magnificent  attire 

Of  sable  tissue  flaked  with  fire. 

Like  a  magician*  he  appeared, 

A  conjurer  without  book  or  beard ; 

And  while  he  plied  his  magic  art —  2° 

For  it  was  magical  to  me — 

I  stood  in  silence  and  apart, 

And  wondered  more  and  more  to  see 

That  shapeless,  lifeless  mass  of  clay 

Rise  up  to  meet  the  master's  hand,  25 

And  now  contract  and  now  expand, 

And  even  his  slightest  touch  obey ; 

While  ever  in  a  thoughtful  mood 

He  sang  his  ditty,*  and  at  times 

Whistled  a  tune  between  the  rhymes,  3° 

As  a  melodious  interlude. 

3.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!    All  things  must  change 
To  something  new,  to  something  strange  : 

Nothing  that  is  can  pause  or  stay : 

The  moon  will  wax*  the  moon  will  wane,  35 

The  mist  and  cloud  will  turn  to  rain, 
The  rain  to  mist  and  cloud  again, 

To-morrow  be  to-day. 

4.  Thus  still  the  Potter  sang,  and  still, 

By  some  unconscious  act  of  will,  40 

The  melody,  and  even  the  words, 
Were  intermingled  with  my  thought, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 19.  without  book  or  beard.     Explain  the  allusion. 
20.  plied  his  magic  art.     Change  this  paraphrasis  into  plain  language. 
27.  touch.     Grammatical  construction  ? — obey.     Literal  or  figurative  ? 
29.  ditty.     Etymology  of  the  word  ? 

32-38.  Turn  .  . .  to-day.     In  this  stanza  what  is  the  refrain  ? — Point  out  an 
example  of  antimetabole.     (See  Def.  18,  iiJ 


KERAMOS. 

As  bits  of  colored  thread  are  caught 
And  woven  into  nests  of  birds. 
And  thus  to  regions  far  remote, 
Beyond  the  ocean's  vast  expanse, 
This  wizard  *  in  the  motley  coat 
Transported  me  on  wings  of  song, 
And  by  the  northern  shores  of  France 
Bore  me  with  restless  speed  along. 


475 


45 


5.  What  land  is  this,  that  seems  to  be 
A  mingling  of  the  land  and  sea  ? 
This  land  of  sluices,  dikes,  and  dunes  ? 
This  water-net,  that  tessellates* 

The  landscape  ?  this  unending  maze  55 

Of  gardens,  through  whose  latticed  gates 
The  imprisoned  pinks  and  tulips  gaze  ; 
Where  in  long  summer  afternoons 
The  sunshine,  softened  by  the  haze, 
Comes  streaming  down  as  through  a  screen :  60 

Where  over  fields  and  pastures  green 
The  painted  ships  float  high  in  air, 
And  over  all  and  everywhere 
The  sails  of  windmills  sink  and  soar 
Like  wings  of  sea-gulls  on  the  shore  ?  65 


51.  TThat  land  is  this,  etc.  From  the 
description  the  pupil  will  readi- 
ly conjecture  that  it  is  Holland. 

53.  dunes.     A  dune  is  a  low  hill  of 


sand    accumulated   on   a  sea- 
coast. 

54.  tessellates,  forms  into  squares  or 
checkers. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 43, 44.  As  ...  birds.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
See  Def.  19.) 

47.  wizard.     By  what  name  was  the  Potter  previously  called  ? — Discriminate 
between  "wizard"  and  "magician,"  and  give  the  derivation  of  each  word. 

48.  on  wings  of  song.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 
51-65.  What  land.  .  .  shore.      Convert  these  questions  into  a  paraphrased 

description  of  Holland. — Point  out  a  metaphor;   a  simile. — Explain  "The 
painted  ships  float  high  in  air." 


476  LONGFELLOW. 

6.  What  land  is  this  ?     Yon  pretty  town 
Is  Delft,  with  all  its  wares  displayed; 
The  pride,  the  market-place,  the  crown 
And  centre  of  the  Potter's  trade. 
See !  every  house  and  room  is  bright 
With  glimmers  of  reflected  light 
From  plates  that  on  the  dresser  shine ; 
Flagons  to  foam  with  Flemish  beer, 
Or  sparkle  with  the  Rhenish  wine, 
And  pilgrim-flasks  with  fleurs-de-lis, 
And  ships  upon  a  rolling  sea, 
And  tankards  pewter-topped,  and  queer 
With  grotesque  *  mask  and  musketeer ! 
Each  hospitable  chimney  smiles 
A  welcome  from  its  painted  tiles ; 
The  parlor  walls,  the  chamber  floors, 
The  stairways,  and  the  corridors, 
The  borders  of  the  garden  walks, 
Are  beautiful  with  fadeless  flowers, 
That  never  droop  in  winds  or  showers, 
And  never  wither  on  their  stalks. 


85 


7.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!    All  life  is  brief; 
What  now  is  bud  will  soon  be  leaf, 


67.  Delft.  From  the  name  of  this 
Hollandish  town  is  derived  our 
word  delft  a  kind  of  earthen- 
ware. 


73.  Flemish,  pertaining  to  Flanders. 
75.  fleurs-de-lis  (literally,  flowers  of  the 

lily),    the    royal    insignia    of 

France. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 66.  In  this  line  what  word  belongs  to  the  diction 
of  poetry  ? 

68,  69.  pride  .  . .  market-place  .  .  .  crown  .  .  .  centre.  What .  is  the  grammati- 
cal construction  of  these  words  ? 

73.  Flagons  . . .  beer.     Supply  the  ellipsis. — Point  out  the  alliteration. 

78.  grotesque.     Etymology  ? 

79,  80.  Each  .  .  .  tiles.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Del".  20.) — Change 
into  a  simile. 

84,  85.  fadeless  flowers,  That,  etc.     Explain. 

87-93-  Turn  •  •  •  awa7'  °f  the  fifty-one  words  in  this  stanza  only  four  are  of 
other  than  Anglo-Saxon  origin :  what  are  these  four? — Point  out  an  example 
of  metonymy  in  this  sentence. 


KE RAMOS. 


477 


What  now  is  leaf  will  soon  decay; 
The  wind  blows  east,  the  wind  blows  west ; 
The  blue  eggs  in  the  robin's  nest 
Will  soon  have  wings  and  beak  and  breast, 
And Jlutter  and  fly  away. 

8.  Now  southward  through  the  air  I  glide, 
The  song  my  only  pursuivant,* 
And  see  across  the  landscape  wide 
The  blue  Charente,  upon  whose  tide 
The  belfries  and  the  spires  of  Saintes 
Ripple  and  rock  from  side  to  side, 
As,  when  an  earthquake  rends  its  walls, 
A  crumbling  city  reels  and  falls. 


95 


9.  Who  is  it  in  the  suburbs  here, 

This  Potter,  working  with  such  cheer, 
In  this  mean  house,  this  mean  attire, 
His  manly  features  bronzed  with  fire, 
Whose  figulines  *  and  rustic  wares 
Scarce  find  him  bread  from  day  to  day  ? 
This  madman,  as  the  people  say, 
Who  breaks  his  tables  and  his  chairs 


105 


95.  pursuivant,  properly,  an  attendant 
on  the  heralds.  Compare  with 
its  use  in  the  following  lines  of 
Longfellow : 


1  The  herald  Hope  forerunning  Fear, 
And  Fear  the  pursuivant  of  Hope." 


98.  Saintes,  a  town  of  France,  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  river  Charente. 
103.  This  Potter:  that  is,  Palissy.    See 
below,  line  119. 


106.  flgulines  (Fr.),  pieces  of  pottery. 
The  word  was  first  applied  by 
Palissy.  In  the  Life  of  Palissy 
it  is  stated  that  at  one  period 
he  was  appointed  "  maker  of 
the  king's  rustic  potteries"  (ru- 
stiques  figulines}. 

108-1 12.  This  madman  .  .  .  dead  ?  "  Re- 
gardless of  expense,  labor,  dis- 
appointment, and  hardship,  he 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 94-101.  Now  .  . .  fallg.  What  kind  of  sentence  gram- 
matically?— What  is  the  construction  of  "The  song  my  only  pursuivant  ?"- 
Explain  "upon  whose  tide  .  .  .  Ripple  and  rock,"  etc. — Point  out  the  simile 
in  this  sentence. 

1 06.  flgulines.     Etymology  ? 

107.  bread.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     (See  Def.  28.) 


478 


LONGFELLOW. 

To  feed  his  furnace  fires,  nor  cares 
Who  goes  unfed  if  they  are  fed, 
Nor  who  may  live  if  they  are  dead  ? 
This  alchemist*  with  hollow  cheeks, 
'  And  sunken,  searching  eyes,  who  seeks, 
By  mingled  earths  and  ores  combined 
With  potency  of  fire,  to  find 
Some  new  enamel  hard  and  bright, 
His  dream,  his  passion,  his  delight  ? 

10.  O  Palissy !  within  thy  breast 
Burned  the  hot  fever  of  unrest; 
Thine  was  the  prophet's  vision,  thine 
The  exultation,  the  divine 
Insanity  of  noble  minds, 
That  never  falters  nor  abates, 
But  labors  and  endures  and  waits, 
Till  all  that  it  foresees,  it  finds, 
Or  what  it  cannot  find,  creates ! 


125 


reduced  himself  and  family  to 
poverty  rather  than  give  up 
his  undertaking"  —  namely, 
that  of  finding  "some  new 
enamel  hard  and  bright"  (see 
line  117). 

119.  Palissy,  Bernard,  French  potter, 
born  about  1510,  died  in  Paris 
in  1590.  After  sixteen  years 
of  exertion  he  succeeded  in  dis- 
covering the  art  of  enamelling 


which  had  been  brought  to  such 
perfection  in  Italy,  and  pro- 
duced earthen  figures  and  orna- 
ments —  vases,  jugs,  ewers,  etc. 
— which,  in  artistic  perfection, 
rivalled  those  of  Faenza  or  Cas- 
tel  Durante.  He  was  ignored 
by  his  contemporaries  and  died 
in  the  Bastile  ;  but  modern 
writers  have  vindicated  his  title 
to  enduring  fame. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — in.  In  this  line  which  word  is  used  in  its  literal, 
and  which  in  a  figurative  sense  ? 

1 13.  This  alchemist.  Supply  the  ellipsis. — Explain  why  the  poet  calls  Palissy 
an  alchemist.  Etymology  of  "  alchemist  ?" 

119-127.  0  I'alissy . . .  creates!  Change  this  sentence  into  the  prose  order. 
—Point  out  noble  expressions  in  this  sentence. — What  other  line  of  Longfel- 
low's is  recalled  by  the  verse  "  But  labors  and  endures  and  waits  ?" 


KERAMOS. 


479 


11.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     This  earthen  jar 
A  touch  can  make,  a  touch  can  mar ; 

And  shall  it  to  the  Potter  say,  130 

What  makest  thou  ?     Thou  hast  no  hand? 
As  men  who  think  to  understand 
A  world  by  their  Creator  planned, 
Who  wiser  is  than  they. 

12.  Still  guided  by  the  dreamy  song,  135 
As  in  a  trance  I  float  along 

Above  the  Pyrenean  chain, 

Above  the  fields  and  farms  of  Spain, 

Above  the  bright  Majorcan  isle 

That  lends  its  softened  name  to  art,  140 

A  spot,  a  dot  upon  the  chart, 

Whose  little  towns,  red-roofed  with  tile, 

Are  ruby-lustred  with  the  light 

Of  blazing  furnaces  by  night, 

And  crowned  by  day  with  wreaths  of  smoke.  145 

Then  eastward  wafted  in  my  flight 

On  my  enchanter's  magic  cloak, 


139.  Majorcan  isle:    that   is,   Majorca, 

one  of  the  Balearic  Isles,  off 
the  eastern  coast  of  Spain. 

140.  lends  its  softened  name  to  art.  Ma- 

jolica, a  word  supposed  to  be 
derived  (a   "softened  name") 


from  Majorca,  where  Saracen 
pottery  was  made,  is  now  com- 
monly used  to  signify  all  pot- 
tery of  Italian  manufacture,  en- 
amelled or  decorated  with  color 
(faience). 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 129.  A  touch  can  make,  a  touch  can  mar.  What  is  the 
figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  18.) — By  what  device  is  the  effect  of  the  figure 
heightened  ?  (See  Def.  38.) 

132-134.  As  men  .  .  .  they.     Explain  this  impressive  thought. 

135.  Still .  .  .  song.     What  kind  of  phrase,  and  what  word  does  it  modify? 

137-139.  Point  out  the  example  of  epizeuxis.     (See  Def.  86.) 

141.  spot .  . .  dot.     Grammatical  construction? 

142-144.  Whose  .  .  .  night.  What  kind  of  clause,  and  modifying  what  ? — 
Point  out  picturesque  expressions  in  this  passage. 

145.  And  crowned  .  .  .  smoke.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech?     (See  Def.  20.' 

147.  On  ...  cloak.     Explain. 


480 


LONGFELLOW. 

I  sail  across  the  Tyrrhene  Sea 

Into  the  land  of  Italy, 

And  o:er  the  windy  Apennines, 

Mantled  and  musical  with  pines. 

The  palaces,  the  princely  halls, 

The  doors  of  houses  and  the  walls 

Of  churches  and  of  belfry  towers, 

Cloister  and  castle,  street  and  mart, 

Are  garlanded  and  gay  with  flowers 

That  blossom  in  the  fields  of  Art. 

Here  Gubbio's  workshops  gleam  and  glow 

With  brilliant  iridescent  dyes, 

The  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  snow, 

The  cobalt  blue  of  summer  skies ; 

And  vase  and  scutcheon,  cup  and  plate, 

In  perfect  finish  emulate 

Faenza,  Florence,  Pesaro. 

13.  Forth  from  Urbino's  gate  there  came 
A  youth  with  the  angelic  name 
Of  Raphael,  in  form  and  face 
Himself  angelic,  and  divine 
In  arts  of  color  and  design. 


150 


155 


i6c 


163 


148.  Tyrrhene  Sea,  the  classical  name 
of  that  part  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean to  the  west  of  Italy. 

158.  Gubbio's  workshops.  Gubbio,  a 
town  of  Italy,  the  factories  of 
which  took  the  lead  in  the 
manufacture  of  majolica-ware 
in  the  i6th  century. 


164.  Faenza,  Florence,  Pesaro.  Italian 
towns,  famous  in  the  I5th  and 
i6th  centuries  for  the  manufact- 
ure of  majolica-ware. 

165-167.  Urbino's  gate  .  .  .  Raphael. 
Raphael  (1483-1522),  the  illus- 
trious artist,  was  born  in  the  city 
of  Urbino,  in  Italy. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 158.  Here  . .  .  glow.     Point  out  the  alliteration. 

163,  164.  emulate  Faenza,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def. 
29.) 

165-169.  Forth  . . .  design.  Remark  on  the  order  of  words.  —  What  is  the 
allusion  in  the  expression  "  Himself  angelic  ?" 


KERAMOS. 


481 


From  him  Francesco  Xanto  caught 
Something  of  his  transcendent  grace, 
And  into  fictile*  fabrics  wrought 
Suggestions  of  the  master's  thought. 
Nor  less  Maestro  Giorgio  shines 
With  madre-perl  and  golden  lines 
Of  arabesques,  and  interweaves 
His  birds  and  fruits  and  flowers  and  leaves 
About  some  landscape,  shaded  brown, 
With  olive  tints  on  rock  and  town. 


14.  Behold  this  cup  within  whose  bowl, 
Upon  a  ground  of  deepest  blue 
With  yellow-lustred  stars  o'erlaid, 
Colors  of  every  tint  and  hue 
Mingle  in  one  harmonious  whole ! 
With  large  blue  eyes  and  steadfast  gaze, 
Her  yellow  hair  in  net  and  braid, 
Necklace  and  ear-rings  all  ablaze 
With  golden  lustre  o'er  the  glaze, 
A  woman's  portrait;  on  the  scroll, 


1 80 


185 


170.  Francesco  Xanto,  an  Italian  maker 
of  majolica. 

172.  fictile,  made  by  the  potter. 

174.  Maestro  Giorgio,  an  Italian  sculp- 
tor and  painter  of  the  i6th  cen- 
tury, who  devoted  himself  to  the 
manufacture  of  majolica,  and 


rivalled  Francesco  Xanto  in  all 
kinds  of  work. 

175.  madre-perl  =  mother  of  pearl. 

176.  arabesques.     An  arabesque  (from 

Lat.  Arabicus,  Arabian)  is  a 
species  of  ornament  used  for 
enriching  flat  surfaces. 


LITERARY  ANALYSTS. — 172.  fictile.     Etymology? 

174.  Maestro  Giorgio  shines,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?    (See  Def. 
29.) 

180-184.  Behold  . .  .  whole!     What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically? 

182.  yellow-lustred.     Explain. 

183.  tint  and  hue.     Discriminate  between  these  synonyms. 
189.  A  woman's  portrait.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

31 


LONGFELLOW. 


Cana  the  Beautiful  !     A  name 

Forgotten  save  for  such  brief  fame 

As  this  memorial  can  bestow  — 

A  gift  some  lover  long  ago 

Gave  with  his  heart  to  this  fair  dame. 


190 


15.  A  nobler  title  to  renown 

Is  thine,  O  pleasant  Tuscan  town, 
Seated  beside  the  Arno's  stream ; 
For  Luca  della  Robbia  there 
Created  forms  so  wondrous  fair 
They  made  thy  sovereignty  supreme. 
These  choristers  with  lips  of  stone, 
Whose  music  is  not  heard,  but  seen, 
Still  chant,  as  from  their  organ-screen, 
Their  maker's  praise ;  nor  these  alone, 
But  the  more  fragile  forms  of  clay, 
Hardly  less  beautiful  than  they, 
These  saints  and  angels  that  adorn 
The  walls  of  hospitals,  and  tell 
The  story  of  good  deeds  so  well 
That  poverty  seems  less  forlorn, 
And  life  more  like  a  holiday. 


195 


205 


190.  Cana  the  Beautiful!  A  represen- 
tation of  this  cup  with  the  in- 
scription Cana  Bella  forms  one 
of  the  illustrations  to  this  poem 
as  it  originally  appeared  in 


Harpers  Magazine  for  Decem- 
ber, 1877. 

196.  Tuscan  town:  that  is,  Florence. 

198.  Luca  della  Robbia,  born  in  Flor- 
ence about  1400. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 190.  name.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

193.  gift.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

196,  197.  By  what  periphrasis  does  the  poet  describe  Florence? 

199.  wondrous.     Used  by  enallage  for  what  form? 

200.  thy  sovereignty.     Sovereignty  in  what  ? 
202.  is  not  heard,  but  seen.     Explain. 

210,  211.  That  porerty .  . .  holiday.     Observe  these  two  fine  lines. 


KE RAMOS. 


483 


1 6.  Here  in  this  old  neglected  church, 
That  long  eludes  the  traveller's  search, 
Lies  the  dead  bishop  on  his  tomb ; 
Earth  upon  earth  he  slumbering  lies, 
Life-like  and  death-like  in  the  gloom; 
Garlands  of  fruit  and  flowers  in  bloom 
And  foliage  deck  his  resting-place ; 
A  shadow  in  the  sightless  eyes, 
A  pallor  on  the  patient  face, 
Made  perfect  by  the  furnace  heat ; 
All  earthly  passions  and  desires 
Burned  out  by  purgatorial  fires ; 
Seeming  to  say,  "  Our  years  are  fleet, 
And  to  the  weary  death  is  sweet." 


2JS 


17.  But  the  most  wonderful  of  all 
The  ornaments  on  to*mb  or  wall 
That  grace  the  fair  Ausonian  shores 
Are  those  the  faithful  earth  restores, 
Near  some  Apulian  town  concealed, 
In  vineyard  or  in  harvest  field : 
Vases  and  urns  and  bass-reliefs, 
Memorials  of  forgotten  griefs, 
Or  records  of  heroic  deeds 
Of  demi-gods  and  mighty  chiefs ; 
Figures  that  almost  move  and  speak, 
And,  buried  amid  mould  and  weeds, 
Still  in  their  attitudes  attest 
The  presence  of  the  graceful  Greek : 
Achilles  in  his  armor  dressed, 


as* 


240 


228.  Ausonian  shores :  that  is,  Italy. 
230.  Apulian,  from  Apulia  in  Italy. 
232.  bass-reliefs,  sculptures  whose  fig- 


ures do  not  stand  out  far  from 
the  ground  or  plane  on  which 
they  are  formed. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 212-225.  Here  •  •  •  sweet.     Make  a  paraphrase  of 
this  passage. — Note  the  sadly  solemn  closing  lines. 

229.  the  faithful  earth  restores.     Explain.— Why  "  the  faithful  earth  ?" 
240-244.  Achilles  .  .  .  beautiful !     From  what  mythology  are  these  illustra- 
tions drawn? — Who  was  Aphrodite's  "boy?" 


484  LONGFELLOW. 

Alcides  with  the  Cretan  bull, 
And  Aphrodite  *  with  her  boy, 
Or  lovely  Helena  of  Troy, 
Still  living  and  still  beautiful ! 

18.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!    'Tis  Nature's  plan  245 
The  child  should  grow  into  the  man, 

The  man  grow  wrinkled,  old,  and  gray  : 
In  youth  the  heart  exults  and  sings, 
The  pulses  leap,  the  feet  have  wings; 
In  age  the  cricket  chirps,  and  brings  250 

The  harvest-home  of  day. 

19.  And  now  the  winds  that  southward  blow, 
And  cool  the  hot  Sicilian  isle, 

Bear  me  away.     I  see  below 

The  long  line  of  the  Libyan  Nile,  255 

Flooding  and  feeding  the  parched  lands 

With  annual  ebb  and  overflow : 

A  fallen  palm  whose  branches  lie 

Beneath  the  Abyssinian  sky, 

Whose  roots  are  in  Egyptian  sands.  260 

On  either  bank  huge  water-wheels, 

Belted  with  jars  and  dripping  weeds, 

Send  forth  their  melancholy  moans, 

As  if,  in  their  gray  mantles  hid, 

Dead  anchorites  of  the  Thebaid  265 

Knelt  on  the  shore  and  told  their  beads, 


242.  Aphrodite :  that  is,  Venus. 

265.  anchorites,    religious     hermits. — 


Thebaid  [The'ba-zd]  =  the  The 
ba'is,  or  Upper  Egypt. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  249.  the  feet  have  wings.  Change  into  plain  lan- 
guage. 

250,  251.  In  age  . .  .  day.     Explain. 

254.  below.     What  part  of  speech  here? 

258-260.  A  fallen  .  . .  sands.     Explain  the  metaphor. 

261.  either.  Query  as  to  this  use  of  the  word.  (See  Swinton's  New  English 
Grammar,  p.  155.) 

263.  their  melancholy  moans.     To  what  are  these  likened  ? 


K&RAMOS.  485 

Beating  their  breasts  with  loud  appeals 
And  penitential  tears  and  groans. 

20.  This  city,  walled  and  thickly  set 

With  glittering  mosque  and  minaret,  270 

Is  Cairo,  in  whose  gay  bazaars 

The  dreaming  traveller  first  inhales 

The  perfume  of  Arabian  gales, 

And  sees  the  fabulous  earthen  jars, 

Huge  as  were  those  wherein  the  maid  275 

Morgiana  found  the  Forty  Thieves 

Concealed  in  midnight  ambuscade ; 

And,  seeing,  more  than  half  believes 

The  fascinating  tales  that  run 

Through  all  the  Thousand  Nights  and  One,  28o 

Told  by  the  fair  Scheherezade. 

21.  More  strange  and  wonderful  than  these 
Are  the  Egyptian  deities — 

Ammon  and  Emoth,  and  the  grand 

Osiris,  holding  in  his  hand  285 

The  lotus ;  Isis,  crowned  and  veiled  ; 

The  sacred  Ibis,  and  the  Sphinx ; 

Bracelets  with  blue-enamelled  links ; 

The  Scarabee  in  emerald  mailed, 

Or  spreading  wide  his  funeral  wings;  29C 

Lamps  that  perchance  their  night-watch  kept 

O'er  Cleopatra  while  she  slept — 

All  plundered  from  the  tombs  of  kings. 


292.  Cleopatra  (B.C.  69-30),  the  last  queen  of  Egypt. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 274.  fabulous.  Explain  the  application  of  the  term 
here. 

275-281.  Huge .  .  .  Scheherezade.  Observe  the  nice  art  with  which  the  allu- 
sion to  the  Arabian  Arights<  Entertainment  is  introduced. 

283.  deities.     What  words  are  in  apposition  with  "  deities  ?" 

291.  their  night-watch  kept.     Explain. 

292.  Cleopatra.     What  constitutes  the  felicity  of  the  choice  of  illustration 
here  made  ? 


486  LONGFELLOW. 

22.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     The  human  race, 
Of  every  tongue,  of  every  place, 

Caucasian,  Coptic,  or  Malay, 
All  that  inhabit  this  great  earth, 
Whatever  be  their  rank  or  worth, 
Are  kindred  and  allied  by  birth, 

And  made  of  the  same  clay.  3<» 

23.  O'er  desert  sands,  o'er  gulf  and  bay, 
O'er  Ganges,  and  o'er  Himalay, 
Birdlike  I  fly,  and  flying  sing, 

To  flowery  kingdoms  of  Cathay, 

And  birdlike  poise  on  balanced  wing  305 

Above  the  town  of  King-te-tching, 

A  burning  town,  or  seeming  so — 

Three  thousand  furnaces  that  glow 

Incessantly,  and  fill  the  air 

With  smoke  uprising,  gyre  on  gyre,  310 

And  painted  by  the  lurid  glare 

Of  jets  and  flashes  of  red  fire. 

24.  As  leaves  that  in  the  autumn  fall, 
Spotted  and  veined  with  various  hues, 

Are  swept  along  the  avenues,  315 

And  lie  in  heaps  by  hedge  and  wall, 

So  from  this  grove  of  chimneys  whirled 

To  all  the  markets  of  the  world, 

These  porcelain  leaves  are  wafted  on— 

Light-yellow  leaves,  with  spots  and  stains  320 


304.  Cathay= China.    The  native  name  i  meaning       "  central       flowery 

of  China  Proper  is  Chunghwa,  !  land." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 299,  300.  Are  ...  clay.  Point  out  three  synonymous 
expressions.  Is  this  tautology,  or  is  it  artistic  fulness  of  expression  ? 

308.  Three  thousand  furnaces.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

311.  painted  by,  etc.     To  what  word  is  this  phrase  an  adjunct  ? 

313-324.  As  leaves  ...  celadon.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ? — 
What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? — Point  out  an  expression  of  marked  delicacy 
and  beauty. 


KERAMOS. 


487 


Of  violet  and  of  crimson  dye, 
Or  tender  azure  of  a  sky 
Just  washed  by  gentle  April  rains, 
And  beautiful  with  celadon. 


25.  Nor  less  the  coarser  household  wares — 
The  willow  pattern  that  we  knew 

In  childhood,  with  its  bridge  of  blue 
Leading  to  unknown  thoroughfares ; 
The  solitary  man  who  stares 
At  the  white  river  flowing  through 
Its  arches,  the  fantastic  trees 
And  wild  perspective  of  the  view; 
And  intermingled  among  these 
The  tiles  that  in  our  nurseries 
Filled  us  with  wonder  and  delight, 
Or  haunted  us  in  dreams  at  night. 

26.  And  yonder  by  Nankin,  behold  ! 

The  tower  of  Porcelain,  strange  and  old, 
Uplifting  to  the  astonished  skies 
Its  ninefold  painted  balconies, 
With  balustrades  of  twining  leaves, 
And  roofs  of  tile,  beneath  whose  eaves 
Hang  porcelain  bells  that  all  the  time 
Ring  with  a  soft,  melodious  chime; 
While  the  whole  fabric  is  ablaze 
With  varied  tints,  all  fused  in  one 
Great  mass  of  color,  like  a  maze 
Of  flowers  illumined  by  the  sun. 


325. 


330 


335 


340 


345 


324.  celadon,  a  color  between  blue  and 
green.  By  the  caprice  of  the 
court  ladies,  this  color  was  thus 


called  from  Celadon,  a  character 
in  the  romance  of  Astree. — 
MENAGE. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 325.  coarser  household  wares.     Explain. 
326-332.  The  willow .  .  .  riew.     The  sub-humorous  quality  of  this  descrip- 
tion will  be  appreciated  by  all  who  have  seen  "the  willow  pattern." 
339.  astonished.     Explain  the  application  of  the  epithet  here. 
345-348.  While  .  .  .  sun.     Observe  the  fine  use  of  words  in  this  passage. 


488  LONGFELLOW. 

27.  Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     What  is  begun 

At  daybreak  must  at  dark  be  done,  350 

To-morrow  will  be  another  day; 
To-morrow  the  hot  furnace  flame 
Will  search  the  heart  and  try  the  frame, 
And  stamp  with  honor  or  with  shame 

These  vessels  made  of  clay.  355 

28.  Cradled  and  rocked  in  Eastern  seas, 
The  islands  of  the  Japanese 
Beneath  me  lie ;  o'er  lake  and  plain 
The  stork,  the  heron,  and  the  crane 

Through  the  clear  realms  of  azure  drift,  360 

And  on  the  hill-side  I  can  see 

The  villages  of  Imari, 

Whose  thronged  and  flaming  workshops  lift 

Their  twisted  columns  of  smoke  on  high, 

Cloud-cloisters  that  in  ruins  lie,  365 

With  sunshine  streaming  through  each  rift, 

And  broken  arches  of  blue  sky. 

29.  All  the  bright  flowers  that  fill  the  land, 
Ripple  of  waves  on  rock  or  sand, 

The  snow  on  Fusiyama's  cone,  37° 

The  midnight  heaven  so  thickly  sown 

With  constellations  of  bright  stars, 

The  leaves  that  rustle,  the  reeds  that  make 

A  whisper  by  each  stream  and  lake, 

The  saffron  dawn,  the  sunset  red,  375 

Are  painted  on  these  lovely  jars; 

Again  the  skylark  sings,  again 


370.  Fujiyama's  cone.     Fusiyama  is  a  I  Japanese   in   religious  venera- 

volcano  in  Japan,  held  by  the  I  tion. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 353-355.  Will  search . . .  clay.     Is  this  literal  or  fig- 
urative ? 

365.  Cloud-cloisters  .  . .  lie.     Explain. 

376.  Are  painted.     What  is  the  compound  subject  of  this  verb? 


KERAMOS.  489 

The  stork,  the  heron,  and  the  crane 

Float  through  the  azure  overhead, 

The  counterfeit  and  counterpart  380 

Of  Nature  reproduced  in  Art. 

.30.  Art  is  the  child  of  Nature ;  yes, 

Her  darling  child,  in  whom  we  trace 

The  features  of  the  mother's  face, 

Her  aspect  and  her  attitude,  385 

All  her  majestic  loveliness 

Chastened  and  softened  and  subdued 

Into  a  more  attractive  grace, 

And  with  a  human  sense  imbued. 

He  is  the  greatest  artist,  then,  390 

Whether  of  pencil  or  of  pen, 

Who  follows  Nature.     Never  man, 

As  artist  or  as  artisan, 

Pursuing  his  own  fantasies, 

Can  touch  the  human  heart,  or  please,  395 

Or  satisfy  our  nobler  needs, 

As  he  who  sets  his  willing  feet 

In  Nature's  foot-prints,  light  and  fleet, 

And  follows  fearless  where  she  leads. 

31.  Thus  mused  I  on  that  morn  in  May,  400 

Wrapped  in  my  visions  like  the  seer, 
Whose  eyes  behold  not  what  is  near, 
But  only  what  is  far  away, 
When  suddenly  sounding,  peal  on  peal, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  378,  379.  The  stork  . . .  overhead.  Compare  with 
lines  359,  360. 

382.  Art  is  the  child,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def.  20.)— 
How  is  the  figure  carried  out  in  the  subsequent  lines  ? 

390-392.  He  is  ...  Nature.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

392-399.  Never  man .  .  .  leads.  Transpose  into  the  prose  order,  supplying 
the  ellipsis. — Point  out  a  metaphor  in  this  passage. 

404-406.  When .  .  .  noon.  What  circumstance  is  deftly  introduced  by  the 
poet  to  break  his  reverie  ? 


49o  LONGFELLOW. 

The  church  bell  from  the  neighboring  town  405 

Proclaimed  the  welcome  hour  of  noon. 

The  Potter  heard,  and  stopped  his  wheel, 

His  apron  on  the  grass  threw  down, 

Whistled  his  quiet  little  tune 

Not  overloud  nor  overlong,  4«> 

And  ended  thus  his  simple  song : 

32.  Stop,  stop,  my  wheel !     Too  soon,  too  soon, 
The  noon  will  be  the  afternoon, 

Too  soon  to-day  be  yesterday : 

Behind  us  in  our  path  we  cast  415 

The  broken  potsherds  of  the  Past, 
And  all  are  ground  to  dust  at  last, 

And  trodden  into  day  / 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 412-418.  Stop . . .  clay!  Point  out  examples  of  itera- 
tion.— Point  out  a  metaphor. — As  a  closing  study  the  stanzas  embodying  the 
song  of  the  Potter  may  be  read  by  themselves  consecutively. 


XXXIII. 

JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

1807. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  DAVID  WASSON.1 

i.  Whittier  has  not  the  liberated,  light-winged,  Greek  imagina 
tion — imagination  not  involved  and  included  in  the  religious  sen- 
timent, but  playing  in  epic  freedom  and  with  various  interpreta- 

1  From  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  March,  1864. 


492       WASSON'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  WHITTIER. 

tion  between  religion  and  intellect ;  he  has  not  the  flowing,  Pro- 
tean, imaginative  sympathy,  the  power  of  instant  self-identification 
with  all  forms  of  character  and  life  which  culminated  in  Shake- 
speare ;  but  that  imaginative  vitality  which  lurks  in  faith  and  con- 
science, producing  what  we  may  call  ideal  force  of  heart.  This  he 
has  eminently;  and  it  is  this  central,  invisible,  Semitic  heat  which 
makes  him  a  poet. 

2.  Imagination  exists  in  him  not  as  a  separable  faculty,  but  as 
a  pure,  vital  suffusion.     Hence  he  is  an  inevitable  poet.     There 
is  no  drop  of  his  blood,  there  is  no  fibre  of  his  brain,  which  does 
not  crave  poetic  expression.     Mr.  Carlyle  desires  to  postpone 
poetry ;  but  as  Providence  did  not  postpone  Whittier,  his  wishes 
can  hardly  be  gratified.     Ours  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  plainest  of 
poets.     He  is  intelligibly  susceptible  to  those  who  have  little 
either  of  poetic  culture  or  of  fancy  and  imagination.     Whoever 
has  common-sense  and  a  sound  heart  has  the  powers  by  which 
he  may  be  appreciated.     And  yet  he  is  not  only  a  real  poet,  but 
he  is  #//poet.     The  Muses  have  not  merely  sprinkled  his  brow; 
he  was  baptized  by  immersion.     His  notes  are  not  many,  but  in 
them  Nature  herself  sings.    He  is  a  sparrow  that  half  sings,  half 
chirps  on  a  bush,  not  a  lark  that  floods  with  orient  hilarity  the 
skies  of  morning ;  but  the  bush  burns,  like  that  which  Moses  saw, 
and  the  sparrow  herself  is  part  of  the  divine  flame. 

3.  This,  then,  is  the  general  statement  about  Whittier.    His  gen- 
ius is  Hebrew  Biblical — more  so  than  that  of  any  other  poet  now 
using  the  English  language.     In  other  words,  he  is  organically 
a  poem  of  the  Will.     He  is  a  flower  of  the  moral  sentiment,  and 
of  the  moral  sentiment  not  in  its  flexible,  feminine,  vine-like  de- 
pendence and  play,  but  in  its  masculine  rigor,  climbing  in  direct, 
vertical  affirmation,  like  a  forest  pine.    In  this  respect  he  affiliates 
with  Wordsworth  and,  going  farther  back,  with  Milton,  whose 
tap-root  was  Hebrew,  though  in  the  vast  epic  flowering  of  his 
genius  he  passed  beyond  the  imaginative  range  of  the  Semitic 
mind. 

4.  In  thus  identifying  our  bard,  spiritually,  with  a  broad  form 
of  the  genius  of  mankind,  we  already  say  with  emphasis  that  his 
is  indeed  a  Life.     Yes,  once  more,  a  real  Life.     He  is  a  nature. 
He  was  born,  not  manufactured.     Here,  once  again,  the  old,  mys- 
terious, miraculous  processes  of  spiritual  assimilation.     Here  a 


PROEM. 


493 


genuine  root-clutch  upon  the  elements  of  man's  experience,  and 
an  inevitable,  indomitable  working-up  of  them  into  human  shape. 
To  look  at  him  without  discerning  this  vital  depth  and  reality 
were  as  good  as  no  looking  at  all. 

5.  Moreover,  the  man  and  the  poet  are  one  and  the  same.  His 
verse  is  no  literary  Beau-Brummelism,  but  a  re-  presentation  of 
that  which  is  presented  in  his  consciousness.  First  there  is  in- 
ward, vital  conversion  of  the  elements  of  his  experience,  then 
verse,  or  version — first  the  soul,  then  the  body.  His  voice,  as 
such,  has  little  range,  nor  is  it  any  marvel  of  organic  perfection ; 
on  the  contrary,  there  is  many  a  voice  with  nothing  at  all  in  it 
which  far  surpasses  his  in  mere  vocal  excellence.  Only  in  this 
you  can  hear  the  deep  refrain  of  Nature,  and  of  Nature  chanting 
her  moral  ideal. 


I.-PROEM. 

i.  I  love  the  old  melodious  lays 
Which  softly  melt  the  ages  through, 

The  songs  of  Spenser's  golden  days, 

Arcadian  Sidney's  silvery  phrase, 
Sprinkling  our  noon  of  time  with  freshest  morning  dew.      5 


NOTES.  —  Line  3.  Spenser,  Edmund 
(1553-1598),  one  of  the  most  il- 
lustrious of  English  poets,  and 
author  of  the  Faerie  Queene. 

4.  Arcadian  Sidney's,  etc.  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  (1554-1586),  one  of  the 


most  brilliant  courtiers  and 
writers  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
age.  His  principal  work  is 
The  Countess  of  Pembroke's  Ar- 
cadia :  hence  the  force  of  "  Ar- 
cadian "  above. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — i.  What  word  in  the  first  line  belongs  to  the  diction 
of  poetry  ? 

2.  Which  softly  melt,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

3.  Spenser's  golden  days.      Whence  arises  the  applicability  of  the  epithet 
"  golden  "  as  here  used  ? 

4.  Sidney's  silvery  phrase.     Express  this  in  your  own  words. 

5.  What  is  meant  by  "  our  noon  of  time  ?" — What  is  the  figure  of  speech  in 
this  line  ? 


494  WHITTIER. 

2.  Yet,  vainly  in  my  quiet  hours 

To  breathe  their  marvellous  notes  I  try ; 

I  feel  them,  as  the  leaves  and  flowers 

In  silence  feel  the  dewy  showers, 
And  drink  with  glad,  still  lips  the  blessing  of  the  sky.        10 

3.  The  rigor  of  a  frozen  clime, 
The  harshness  of  an  untaught  ear, 

The  jarring  words  of  one  whose  rhyme 
Beat  often  Labor's  hurried  time, 
Or  Duty's  rugged  march  through  storm  and  strife,  are  here.  15 

4.  Of  mystic  beauty,  dreamy  grace, 
No  rounded  art  the  lack  supplies ; 

Unskilled  the  subtle  lines  to  trace, 
Or  softer  shades  of  Nature's  face, 
I  view  her  common  forms  with  unanointed  eyes.  20 


5.  Nor  mine  the  seer-like  power  to  show 
The  secrets  of  the  heart  and  mind ; 

To  drop  the  plummet-line  below 

Our  common  world  of  joy  and  woe, 
A  more  intense  despair  or  brighter  hope  to  find.  25 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 6,  7.  Yet ...  try.    Transpose  into  the  prose  order. 

8-10.  I  feel .  . .  sky.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? — What  is  the  subject 
of  "drink?" — By  what  expressive  paraphrasis  does  the  poet  denote  "the 
dewy  showers  ?" 

1 1.  The  rigor  . . .  clime.  State  what  theory  of  climatic  influence  you  suppose 
to  be  in  the  author's  mind. 

14.  Beat . . .  time.     Explain  the  figure  of  speech. 

1 6,  17.  Of ...  supplies.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically? — Transpose 
into  the  direct  order. — What  is  meant  by  "  rounded  art  ?" 

20.  I.  What  are  the  adjuncts  to  this  pronoun? — Explain  the  allusion  in 
the  expression  "  unanointed  eyes." 

23.  To  drop  the  plummet-line,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? — Express 
the  thought  in  plain  language. 


MAUD  MULLER. 


495 


6.  Yet  here  at  least  an  earnest  sense 
Of  human  right  and  weal  *  is  shown ; 

A  hate  of  tyranny  intense, 

And  hearty  in  its  vehemence, 
As  if  my  brother's  pain  and  sorrow  were  my  own. 


7.  O  Freedom  !  if  to  me  belong 

Nor  mighty  Milton's  gift  divine, 

Nor  MarvelPs  wit  and  graceful  song, 
Still  with  a  love  as  deep  and  strong 

As  theirs,  I  lay,  like  them,  my  best  gifts  on  thy  shrine ! 


35 


II.— MAUD  MULLEIL 

Maud  Muller,  on  a  summer's  day, 
Raked  the  meadow  sweet  with  hay. 

Beneath  her  torn  hat  glowed  the  wealth 
Of  simple  beauty  and  rustic  health. 

Singing,  she  wrought,  and  her  merry  glee 
The  mock-bird  echoed  from  his  tree. 

But  when  she  glanced  to  the  far-off  town, 
White  from  its  hill-slope  looking  down, 

The  sweet  song  died,  and  a  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  filled  her  breast — 


33.  Maxell's  wit.  Andrew  Marvell 
(1620-1678),  a  prominent  re- 
publican in  the  Cromwellian 
times,  and  for  a  while  assistant 
to  Milton  when  the  latter  was 


Latin  secretary  for  the  Com- 
monwealth under  Cromwell. 
He  wrote  poems  which,  though 
little  known,  are  still  read  with 
pleasure  by  persons  of  taste. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 27.  right  and  weal.  What  is  the  distinction  between 
these  synonyms  ? 

28.  hate.     Of  what  verb  is  this  noun  the  subject  ? 

30.  As  if ...  own.  The  pupil  cannot  fail  to  feel  the  heart-beat  in  this  emi- 
nently Whittier-like  line. 

31.0  Freedom!     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  23.) 

3I-35-  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  is  stanza  7? 


496  WHITTIER. 

A  wish,  that  she  hardly  dared  to  own, 
For  something  better  than  she  had  known. 

The  Judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane, 
Smoothing  his  horse's  chestnut  mane. 

He  drew  his  bridle  in  the  shade  is 

Of  the  apple-trees,  to  greet  the  maid, 

And  ask  a  draught  from  the  spring  that  flowed 
Through  the  meadow,  across  the  road. 

She  stooped  where  the  cool  spring  bubbled  up, 

And  filled  for  him  her  small  tin  cup,  20 

And  blushed  as  she  gave  it,  looking  down 
On  her  feet  so  bare,  and  her  tattered  gown. 

"  Thanks  !"  said  the  Judge  :  "  a  sweeter  draught 
From  a  fairer  hand  was  never  quaffed." 

He  spoke  of  the  grass  and  flowers  and  trees,  25 

Of  the  singing  birds  and  the  humming  bees ; 

Then  talked  of  the  haying,  and  wondered  whether 
The  cloud  in  the  west  would  bring  foul  weather. 

And  Maud  forgot  her  brier-torn  gown, 

And  her  graceful  ankles,  bare  and  brown,  30 

And  listened,  while  a  pleased  surprise 
Looked  from  her  long-lashed  hazel  eyes. 

At  last,  like  one  who  for  delay 
Seeks  a  vain  excuse,  he  rode  away. 

Maud  Muller  looked  and  sighed  :  "  Ah  me  !  34 

That  I  the  Judge's  bride  might  be  ! 

He  would  dress  me  up  in  silks  so  fine, 
And  praise  and  toast  me  at  his  wine. 

My  father  should  wear  a  broadcloth  coat, 

My  brother  should  sail  a  painted  boat.  $o 

I'd  dress  my  mother  so  grand  and  gay, 

And  the  baby  should  have  a  new  toy  each  day. 


MAUD  MULLER. 

And  I'd  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor, 
And  all  should  bless  me  who  left  our  door." 


497 


The  Judge  looked  back  as  he  climbed  the  hill,  45 

And  saw  Maud  Muller  standing  still  : 

"  A  form  more  fair,  a  face  more  sweet, 
Ne'er  hath  it  been  my  lot  to  meet 

And  her  modest  answer  and  graceful  air 

Show  her  wise  and  good  as  she  is  fair.  5° 

Would  she  were  mine,  and  I  to-day, 
Like  her,  a  harvester  of  hay: 

No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
Nor  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues, 

But  low  of  cattle  and  song  of  birds,  ss 

And  health  and  quiet  and  loving  words." 

But  he  thought  of  his  sister,  proud  and  cold, 
And  his  mother,  vain  of  her  rank  and  gold. 

So,  closing  his  heart,  the  Judge  rode  on, 

And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone.  *> 

But  the  lawyers  smiled  that  afternoon, 
When  he  hummed  in  court  an  old  love-tune; 

And  the  young  girl  mused  beside  the  well, 
Till  the  rain  on  the  unraked  clover  fell. 

He  wedded  a  wife  of  richest  dower,  65 

Who  lived  for  fashion,  as  he  for  power. 

Yet  oft,  in  his  marble  hearth's  bright  glow, 
He  watched  a  picture  come  and  go; 

And  sweet  Maud  Muller's  hazel  eyes 

Looked  out  in  their  innocent  surprise.  7° 

Oft,  when  the  wine  in  his  glass  was  red, 
He  longed  for  the  wayside  well  instead ; 

And  closed  his  eyes  on  his  garnished  rooms, 
To  dream  of  meadows  and  clover  blooms ; 
32 


498  WHITTIER. 

And  the  proud  man  sighed  with  a  secret  pain, —  75 

"  Ah,  that  I  were  free  again  ! 

Free  as  when  I  rode  that  day 

Where  the  barefoot  maiden  raked  the  hay." 

She  wedded  a  man  unlearned  and  poor, 

And  many  children  played  round  her  door.  80 

But  care  and  sorrow,  and  childbirth  pain, 
Left  their  traces  on  heart  and  brain. 

And  oft,  when  the  summer's  sun  shone  hot 
On  the  new-mown  hay  in  the  meadow  lot, 

And  she  heard  the  little  spring-brook  fall  85 

Over  the  roadside,  through  the  wall, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree  again 
She  saw  a  rider  draw  his  rein, 

And,  gazing  down  with  timid  grace, 

She  felt  his  pleased  eyes  read  her  face.  90 

Sometimes  her  narrow  kitchen  walls 
Stretched  away  into  stately  halls : 

The  weary  wheel  to  a  spinet  turned, 
The  tallow  candle  an  astral  burned; 

And  for  him  who  sat  by  the  chimney  lug,  QS 

Dozing  and  grumbling  o'er  pipe  and  mug, 

A  manly  form  at  her  side  she  saw, 
And  joy  was  duty,  and  love  was  law. 

Then  she  took  up  her  burden  of  life  again, 

Saying  only,  "  It  might  have  been."  100 

Alas  for  maiden,  alas  for  Judge, 

For  rich  repiner  and  household  drudge ! 

God  pity  them  both  !  and  pity  us  all, 
Who  vainly  the  dreams  of  youth  recall; 

For  of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen,  105 

The  saddest  are  these:  "!T  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  !" 


SKIPPER  IRESON'S  RIDE.  499 

Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes ; 

And  in  the  hereafter  angels  may 
Roll  the  stone  from  its  grave  away. 


III.— SKIPPER   IRESON'S   RIDE. 

1.  Of  all  the  rides,  since  the  birth  of  time, 
Told  in  story  or  sung  in  rhyme — 

On  Apuleius's  Golden  Ass, 

Or  one-eyed  Calendar's  horse  of  brass, 

Witch  astride  of  a  human  hack,  5 

Islam's  prophet  on  Al-Borak — 

The  strangest  ride  that  ever  was  sped 

Was  Ireson's,  out  from  Marblehead  ! 

Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 

Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart  10 

By  the  women,  of  Marblehead ! 

2.  Body  of  turkey,  head  of  owl, 
Wings  a-droop  like  a  rained-on  fowl, 
Feathered  and  ruffled  in  every  part, 

Skipper  Ireson  stood  in  the  cart.  15 

Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 

Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue, 

Pushed  and  pulled  up  the  rocky  lane, 

Shouting  and  singing  the  shrill  refrain  : 

"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt,  20 

Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead !" 


NOTES.  —  3.   Apuleius's    Golden    Ass.  j  Calendar,  in  the  Arabian  Nights' 


Apule'ius,  a  Roman  philoso- 
pher, born  in  the  second  century 
of  the  Christian  era.  The  most 
celebrated  of  his  works  is  the 
Metamorphosis,  or  Golden  Ass. 
4.  one-eyed  Calendar's  horse  of  brass. 
See  the  story  of  Agib,  the  third 


Entertainments. 

6.  Al-Borak,  a  wondrous  imaginary  ani- 
mal, on  which  Mohammed  pre- 
tended to  have  made  a  night 
journey  from  Mecca  to  Jerusa- 
lem and  thence  to  the  seventh 
heaven. 


5°° 


WHITTIER. 

Wrinkled  scolds  with  hands  on  hips, 

Girls  in  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips, 

Wild-eyed,  free-limbed,  such  as  chase 

Bacchus  round  some  antique  vase, 

Brief  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare, 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair, 

With  conch-shells  blowing  and  fish-horns'  twang, 

Over  and  over  the  Maenads  sang : 

"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  !" 


Small  pity  for  him  ! — he  sailed  away 

From  a  leaking  ship  in  Chaleur  Bay —  35 

Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 

With  his  own  towns-people  on  her  deck ! 

"  Lay  by  !  lay  by  !"  they  called  to  him  ; 

Back  he  answered,  "  Sink  or  swim  ! 

Brag  of  your  catch  of  fish  again  !"  40 

And  off  he  sailed  through  the  fog  and  rain  ! 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead ! 


Fathoms  deep  in  dark  Chaleur 
That  wreck  shall  lie  for  evermore. 
Mother  and  sister,  wife  and  maid, 
Looked  from  the  rocks  of  Marblehead 
Over  the  moaning  and  rainy  sea — 
Looked  for  the  coming  that  might  not  be ! 
What  did  the  winds  and  the  sea-birds  say 
Of  the  cruel  captain  who  sailed  away  ? — 


45 


26.  Bacchus.     See  page  50,  note  16. 

30.  Maenads  sang.  The  Manacles  were 
the  Bacchantes,  or  priestesses 
of  Bacchus  :  the  name  was 


given  in  allusion  to  their  fren- 
zied movements. 

35.  Chaleur  Bay,  an  inlet  in  the  Gulf 
of  St.  Lawrence. 


SKIPPER  IRESON' S  RIDE.  501 

Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a'  cart 

By  the  women  of  Marblehead !  55 

6.  Through  the  street,  on  either  side, 
Up  flew  windows,  doors  swung  wide, 
Sharp-tongued  spinsters,  old  wives  gray, 
Treble  lent  the  fish-horn's  bray. 

Sea-worn  grandsires,  cripple-bound,  60 

Hulks  of  old  sailors  run  aground, 

Shook  head  and  fist  and  hat  and  cane, 

And  cracked  with  curses  the  hoarse  refrain : 
"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt  <ss 

By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead !" 

7.  Sweetly  along  the  Salem  road 
Bloom  of  orchard  and  lilac  showed. 
Little  the  wicked  skipper  knew 

Of  the  fields  so  green  and  the  sky  so  blue.  ^ 

Riding  there  in  his  sorry  trim, 

Like  an  Indian  idol  glum  and  grim, 

Scarcely  he  seemed  the  sound  to  hear 

Of  voices  shouting  far  and  near : 

"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt,  75 

Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  !" 

8.  "  Hear  me,  neighbors  !"  at  last  he  cried — 
';  What  to  me  is  this  noisy  ride  ? 

What  is  the  shame  that  clothes  the  skin  &> 

To  the  nameless  horror  that  lives  within  ? 

Waking  or  sleeping,  I  see  a  wreck, 

And  hear  a  cry  from  a  reeling  deck ! 

Hate  me  and  curse  me — I  only  dread 

The  hand  of  God  and  the  face  of  the  dead !"  35 

Said  old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  ! 


5  02  WhlTTlER. 

9.  Then  the  wife  of  the  skipper  lost  at  sea 

•Said,  "  God  has  touched  him  ! — why  should  we?"          90 
Said  an  old  wife  mourning  her  only  son, 
"  Cut  the  rogue's  tether,  and  let  him  run  /" 
So  with  soft  relentings  and  rude  excuse, 
Half  scorn,  half  pity,  they  cut  him  loose, 
And  gave  him  a  cloak  to  hide  him  in, 
And  left  him  alone  with  his  shame  and  sin. 
Poor  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  J 


XXXIV. 

OLIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES. 

1809. 


CHARACTERIZATION   BY  J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

i.  If  any  reader  (and  at  times  we  fear  it  is  the  case  with  all) 
needs  amusement,  and  the  wholesome  alterative  of  a  hearty  laugh, 
we  commend  him  not  to  Dr.  Holmes  the  physician,  but  to  Dr. 
Holmes  the  scholar,  the  wit,  and  the  humorist;  not  to  the  scien- 


5o4  HOLMES. 

tific  medical  professor's  barbarous  Latin,  but  to  his  poetical  pre- 
scriptions, given  in  choice  old  Saxon.  We  have  tried  them,  and 
are  ready  to  give  the  doctor  certificates  of  their  efficacy. 

2.  Looking  at  the  matter  from  the  point  of  theory  only,  we 
should  say  that  a  physician  could  not  be  otherwise  than  melan- 
choly.   A  merry  doctor !    Why,  one  might  as  well  talk  of  a  laugh- 
ing death's-head — the  cachinnation  of  a  monk's  memento  mori. 
This  life  of  ours  is  sorrowful  enough  at  its  best  estate.     The 
brightest  phase  of  it  is  "sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast"  of  the 
future  or  the  past.     But  it  is  the  special  vocation  of  the  doctor 
to  look  only  upon  the  shadow ;  to  turn  away  from  the  house  of 
feasting  and  go  down  to  that  of  mourning;  to  breathe  day  after 
day  the  atmosphere  of  wretchedness  ;  to  grow  familiar  with  suf- 
fering; to  look  upon  humanity  disrobed  of  its  pride  and  glory, 
robbed  of  all  its  fictitious  ornaments — weak,  helpless,  naked — and 
undergoing  the  last  fearful  metempsychosis  from  its  erect  and  God- 
like image,  the  living  temple  of  an  enshrined  divinity,  to  the  loath- 
some clod  and  the  inanimate  dust.     His  ideas  of  beauty,  the  im- 
aginations of  his  brain,  and  the  affections  of  his  heart,  are  reg- 
ulated and  modified  by  the  irrepressible  associations  of  his  luck- 
less profession.     Woman  as  well  as  man  is  to  him  of  the  earth, 
earthy.    He  sees  incipient  disease  where  the  uninitiated  see  only 
delicacy.    A  smile  reminds  him  of  his  dental  operations;  a  blush- 
ing cheek,  of  his  hectic  patients;  pensive  melancholy  is  dyspep- 
sia; sentimentalism,  nervousness.     Tell  him  of  lovelorn  hearts, 
of  the  "  worm  i'  the  bud,"  of  the  mental  impalement  upon  Cupid's 
arrow,  like  that  of  a  Giaour  upon  the  spear  of  a  Janizary,  and  he 
can  only  think  of  lack  of  exercise,  of  tight  lacing,  and  slippers  in 
winter. 

3.  So  much  for  speculation  and  theory.     In  practice  it  is  not 
so  bad  after  all.     The  grave-digger  in  Hamlet  has  his  jokes  and 
grim  jests;  we  have  known  many  a  jovial  sexton;  and  we  have 
heard  clergymen  laugh  heartily,  at  small  provocation,  close  on  the 
heel  of  a  cool  calculation  that  the  great  majority  of  their  fellow- 
creatures  were  certain  of  going  straight  to  perdition.    Why,  then, 
should  not  even  the  doctor  have  his  fun  ?    Nay,  is  it  not  his  duty 
to  be  merry,  by  main  force,  if  necessary  ?     Solomon,  who,  from 
his  great  knowledge  of  herbs,  must  have  been  no  mean  practi- 
tioner for  his  day,  tells  us  that  "  a  merry  heart  doeth  good  like  a 


WHITTIER'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  HOLMES.      505 

medicine,"  and  universal  experience  has  confirmed  the  truth  of 
his  maxim.  Hence  it  is,  doubtless,  that  we  have  so  many  anec- 
dotes of  facetious  doctors,  distributing  their  pills  and  jokes  to- 
gether, shaking  at  the  same  time  the  contents  of  their  phials  and 
the  sides  of  their  patients.  It  is  merely  professional,  a  trick  of 
the  practice,  unquestionably,  in  most  cases;  but  sometimes  it  is 
a  "natural  gift,"  like  that  of  the  "bone  setters,"  and  "scrofula 
strokers,"  and  "  cancer  curers,"  who  carry  on  a  sort  of  guerilla 
war  with  human  maladies. 

4.  Such  we  know  to  be  the  case  with  Dr.  Holmes.     He  was 
born  for  the  "  Laughter  Cure,"  as  certainly  as  Preisnitz  was  for 
the  "Water  Cure,"  and  has  been  quite  as  successful  in  his  way, 
while  his  prescriptions  are  infinitely  more  agreeable. 

5.  It  was  said  of  James  Smith,  of  the  Rejected  Addresses,  that 
"  if  he  had  not  been  a  witty  man  he  would  have  been  a  great 
man."     Hood's  humor  and  drollery  kept  in  the  background  the 
pathos  and  beauty  of  his  soberer  productions ;  and  Dr.  Holmes, 
we  suspect,  might  have  ranked  higher,  among  a  large  class  of 
readers,  than  he  now  does,  had  he  never  written  his  Ballad  of  the 
Oysterman,  his  Comet,  and  his  September  Gale.    Such  lyrics  as  La 
Grisette,  The  Puritan's  Vision,  and  that  unique  compound  of  hu- 
mor and  pathos,  The  Last  Leaf,  show  that  he  possesses  power — 
the  power  of  touching  the  deeper  chords  of  the  heart,  and  of  call- 
ing forth  tears  as  well  as  smiles.     Who  does  not  feel  the  power 
of  this  simple  picture  of  the  old  man,  in  the  last-mentioned 
poem? 

"  But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets, 

Sad  and  wan  ; 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 
'  They  are  gone  !' 

"The  mossy  marbles  rest 
On  the  lips  that  he  has  pressed 

In  their  bloom ; 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb  !" 

6.  Dr.  Holmes  has  been  likened  to  Thomas  Hood ;  but  there 
is  little  in  common  between  them,  save  the  power  of  combining 


5o6  HOLMES. 

fancy  and  sentiment  with  grotesque  drollery  and  humor.  Hood, 
under  all  his  whims  and  oddities,  conceals  the  vehement  intensity 
of  a  reformer.  The  iron  of  the  world's  wrongs  has  entered  into 
his  soul.  There  is  an  undertone  of  sorrow  in  his  lyrics.  His  sar- 
casm, directed  against  oppression  and  bigotry,  at  times  betrays 
the  earnestness  of  one  whose  own  withers  have  been  wrung. 
Holmes  writes  simply  for  the  amusement  of  himself  and  his  read- 
ers. He  deals  only  with  the  vanities,  the  foibles,  and  the  minor 
faults  of  mankind,  good-naturedly  and  almost  sympathizingly  sug- 
gesting excuses  for  folly,  which  he  tosses  about  on  the  horns  of 
his  ridicule.  Long  may  he  live  to  make  broader  the  face  of  our 
care-ridden  generation,  and  to  realize  for  himself  the  truth  of  the 
wise  man's  declaration,  that  "  a  merry  heart  is  a  continual 
feast." 


I.— THE   DEACON'S   MASTERPIECE. 

1.  Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 
That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day  ? 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it — ah,  but  stay, 

I'll  tell  you  what  happened,  without  delay, — 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits, — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

2.  Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five; 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive, — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— i.  one-boss  shay.  It  will  be  observed  that  a  number 
of  words  and  expressions  in  this  piece  belong  to  the  Yankee  dialect— if  dialect 
we  may  venture  to  call  it  after  Mr.  Lowell's  clever  proof  that  many  of  these 
so-called  provincialisms  are  really  drawn  from  the  "well  of  English  unde- 
filed." 

2.  logical  way.     In  what  consists  the  drollery  of  the  epithet  ? 

4.  And  . . .  stay.     Point  out  the  example  of  aposiopesis.     (See  Def.  39.) 

9-17.  Seventeen  . . .  shay.  Observe  the  comical  effect  gained  by  associating 
the  finishing  of  the  one-horse  shay  with  the  occurrence  of  great  historical 
events.  Explain  the  allusions— What  metaphors  in  this  stanza,  and  what  is 
their  nature  ? 


THE  DEACON'S  MASTERPIECE.  507 

That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon  town 

Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down; 

And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 

Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown.  «s 

It  was  on  that  terrible  earthquake  day 

That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

3.  Now,  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 
There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot, — • 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill,  20 

In  panel  or  crossbar  or  floor  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace, — lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will, — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without, — 

And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt,  25 

A  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

4.  But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  deacons  do, 
With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "  I  tell  yeou  ") 
He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown, 

'n'  the  kaounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ;  «o 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldrf  break  daown 
"  Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  't's  mighty  plain 
Thut  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain ; 
'n'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest  35 

T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

5.  So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 
Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 
That  couldn't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke, — • 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 18-26.  Now . . .  out.  How  is  droll  emphasis  given 
to  the  statement  that  in  building  chaises  "  there  is  always  somewhere  a  weak- 
est spot  ?" — doesn't.  The  poet  is  too  exact  a  scholar  to  say  don't. 

27-36.  But .  .  .  rest.  This  stanza  affords  a  goodly  study  of  "  Yankee  "  pro- 
nunciation and  phraseology.  (Pupils  will  do  well  to  refer  to  Mr.  Lowell's  es- 
say introductory  to  his  Biglow  Papers.} 

37-57.  So  ...  dew!  The  clever  handling  of  details  will  be  observed.  Pupils 
may  point  out  touches  that  strike  them  as  specially  noticeable. 


508  HOLMES.- 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills ;  4o 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees ; 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  settler's  ellum," —  4S 

Last  of  its  timber,  they  couldn't  sell  'em; 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw,  5o 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide ; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide, 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died.  55 

That  was  the  way  he  "put  her  through." 

"  There  !"  said  the  Deacon,  **  naow  she'll  dew!" 

6.  Do  !     I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less! 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray,  60 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren,  where  were  they  ? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake  day ! 

7.  EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ; — it  came  and  found  65 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten; 

"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  they  called  it  then. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came, — 

Running  as  usual, — much  the  same.  70 

Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 

And  then  come  fifty  and  FIFTY-FIVE. 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 58-64.  Do  ...  day !  In  this  stanza  point  out  a  so- 
called  Yankeeism  which  is  really  good  Elizabethan  English.— What  personi- 
fication is  made  ?— By  what  details,  skilfully  introduced,  is  the  lapse  of  time 
vividly  suggested? 

66.  strong  and  sound.     Grammatical  construction  ? 


THE  DEACON'S  MASTERPIECE.  509 

8.  Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer.  ?s 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large ; 

Take  it. — You're  welcome. — No  extra  charge.) 

9.  FIRST  OF  NOVEMBER — the  earthquake  day —  so 
There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay, 

A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  couldn't  be,  for  the  Deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part  85 

That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 

And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 

And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 

And  the  whippletree  neither  less  nor  more,  90 

And  the  back  crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 

And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 

And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt, 

In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out! 

10.  First  of  November,  fifty-five  !  g$ 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 
Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way  ! 
Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 
Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 
"  Huddup  !"  said  the  parson. — Off  went  they.  100 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 73-79.  Of  the  fifty-five  words  in  stanza  8  only  six 
are  of  other  than  Anglo-Saxon  origin  :  what  are  these  words  ? — In  this  stanza 
point  out  a  fine  aphorism. 

80-94.  First ...  out !  What  expression,  reiterated  in  line  80,  begins  to  grow 
very  significant  ? — What  expression  in  this  stanza  finely  describes  the  state  of 
the  chaise  now  ? — Point  out  the  examples  of  polysyndeton  :  what  is  the  effect 
of  the  use  of  this  figure  ? — Note  the  rhymes  in  lines  89-92. 

95-118.  First ...  burst.  In  this  stanza  point  out  humorous  touches  and 
comical  epithets. — Point  out  ,an  effective  simile. 


5IO  HOLMES. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text, — 

Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 

At  what  the — Moses — was  coming  next. 

All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 

Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill.  105 

First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 

Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill,— 

And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 

At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock, — 

Just  the  hour  of  the  earthquake  shock !  »o 

What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 

When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 

The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 

As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground ! 

You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce,  us 

How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once — 

All  at  once,  and  nothing  first — 

Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

ii.  End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 

Logic  is  logic.     That's  all  I  say.  «o 


II.— THE   CHAMBERED   NAUTILUS. 

1.  This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

2.  Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  its  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed  ! 


THE  LAST  LEAF. 


511 


3.  Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil ; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door,  20 

Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

4.  Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap  forlorn  ! 

From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born  25 

Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings — 

5.  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll !  30 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea  i 


III.— THE   LAST   LEAF. 

i.  I  saw  him  once  before, 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 

The  pavement  stones  resound, 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 

a.  They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 


HOLMES. 

3.  But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad  and  wan;  15 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone." 

4.  The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  pressed  ^ 

In  their  bloom ; 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 

5.  My  grandmamma  has  said —  25 
Poor  old  lady  she  is  dead 

Long  ago — 

That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow.  3c 

6.  But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff; 

And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack  35 

In  his  laugh. 

7. 1  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here ; 

But  the  old  three-cornered  hat,  *c 

And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer ! 

8.  And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring,  *5 

Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now. 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 


XXXV. 

ALFRED   TENNYSON. 

1 8 10. 


,  CHARACTERIZATION  BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

i.  No  English  poet,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Byron,  has 
so  ministered  to  the  natural  appetite  for  poetry  in  the  people  as 
Tennyson.  Byron  did  this — unintentionally,  as  all  genius  does 
— by  warming  and  arousing  their  dormant  sentiment :  Tennyson 

33 


-I4  TENNYSON. 

by  surprising  them  into  the  recognition  of  a  new  luxury  in  the 
harmony  and  movement  of  poetic  speech.  I  use  the  word  "  lux- 
ury "  purposely ;  for  no  other  word  will  express  the  glow  and 
richness  and  fulness  of  his  technical  qualities.  It  was  scarcely 
a  wonder  that  a  generation  accustomed  to  look  for  compact  and 
palpable  intellectual  forms  in  poetry — a  generation  which  was 
still  hostile  to  Keats  and  Shelley,  and  had  not  yet  caught  up 
with  Wordsworth — should  at  first  regard  this  new  flower  as  an 
interpolating  weed.  But  when  its  blossom-buds  fully  expanded 
into  gorgeous,  velvety-crimsoned,  golden-anthered  tiger-lilies,  fill- 
ing the  atmosphere  of  our  day  with  deep,  intoxicating  spice- 
odors,  how  much  less  wonder  that  others  should  snatch  the  seed 
and  seek  to  make  the  acknowledged  flower  their  own  ? 

2.  Tennyson  must  be  held  guiltless  of  all  that  his  followers 
and  imitators  have  done.     His  own  personal  aim  has  been  pure 
and  lofty ;  but  without  his  intention  or  will,  or  even  expectation, 
he  has  stimulated   into   existence  a  school  of  what  might  be 
called  Decorative  Poetry.     I  take  the  adjective  from  its  present 
application  to  a  school  of  art.     I  have  heard  more  than  one  dis- 
tinguished painter  in  England  say  of  painting,  "  It  is  simply  a 
decorative  art."     Hence  it  needs  only  a  sufficiency  of  form  to 
present  color ;  the  expression  of  an  idea,  perspective,  chiaro-os- 
curo  do  not  belong  to  it ;  for  these  address  themselves  to  the 
mind,  whereas  art  addresses  itself  only  to  the  eye."     This  is  no 
place  to  discuss  such  a  materialistic  heresy ;  I  mention  it  only 
to  make  my  meaning  clear.     We  may  equally  say  that  decora- 
tive poetry  addresses  itself  only  to  the  ears,  and  seeks  to  occupy 
an  intermediate  ground  between  poetry  and  music.     I  need  not 
give  instances.     They  are  becoming  so  common  that  the  natu- 
ral taste  of  mankind,  which  may  be  surprised  and  perverted  for  a 
time,  is  beginning  to  grow  fatigued,  and  the  flower — as  Tennyson 
justly  complains  in  his  somewhat  petulant  poem — will  soon  be  a 
weed  again. 

3.  Such  poems  as  Morte  d'  Arthur,  The  Talking  Oak,  Locksley 
Hall,  Ulysses,  and  The  Two  Voices,  wherein  thought,  passion,  and 
imagination,  combined  in  their  true  proportions,  breathe  through 
full,  rich,  and  haunting  forms  of  verse,  at  once  gave  Tennyson 
his  place  in  English  literature.     The  fastidious  care  with  which 
every  image  was  wrought,  every  bar  of  the  movement  adjusted 


TAYLOR'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  TENNYSON. 


5*5 


to  the  next,  and  attuned  to  the  music  of  all,  every  epithet  chosen 
for  point,  freshness,  and  picturesque  effect,  every  idea  restrained 
within  the  limits  of  close  and  clear  expression — these  virtues,  so 
intimately  fused,  became  a  sudden  delight  for  all  lovers  of 
poetry,  and  for  a  time  affected  their  appreciation  of  its  more  un- 
pretending and  artless  forms.  The  poet's  narrow  circle  of  ad- 
mirers widened  at  once,  taking  in  so  many  of  the  younger  gen- 
eration that  the  old  doubters  were  one  by  one  compelled  to 
yield.  Poe,  possessing  much  of  the  same  artistic  genius  in  poet- 
ry, was  the  first  American  author  to  welcome  Tennyson  ;  and  I 
still  remember  the  eagerness  with  which,  as  a  boy  of  seventeen, 
after  reading  his  paper,  I  sought  for  the  volume,  and  I  remem- 
ber also  the  strange  sense  of  mental  dazzle  and  bewilderment  I 
experienced  on  the  first  perusal  of  it.  I  can  only  compare  it 
with  the  first  sight  of  a  sunlit  landscape  through  a  prison :  every 
object  has  a  rainbowed  outline.  One  is  fascinated  to  look  again 
and  again  though  the  eye-ache. 

4.  Hundreds  of  Tennyson's  lines  and  phrases  have  become 
fixed  in  the  popular  memory ;  and  there  is  scarcely  one  that  is 
not   suggestive    of   beauty,  or   consoling,   or   heartening.     His 
humanity  is  not  a  passion,  but  it  uses  occasion  to  express  itself ; 
his  exclusive  habits  and  tastes  are  only  to  be  implied  from  his 
works.      He  delights  to  sing  of  honor  and  chastity  and  fidel- 
ity, and  his  most  voluptuous  measures  celebrate  no  greater  in- 
dulgences than  indolence  and  the  sensuous  delight  of  life.    With 
an  influence  in  literature  unsurpassed  since  that  of  Byron,  he 
may  have  incited  a  morbid  craving  for  opulent  speech  in  less 
gifted  writers,  but  he  has  never  disseminated  morbid  views  of 
life.     His  conscious   teaching  has   always  been  wholesome   and 
elevating.     In  spite  of  the  excessive  art,  which  I  have  treated  as 
his  prominent  fault  as  a  poet — nay,  partly  in  consequence  of  it — 
he  has  given  more  and  keener  delight  to  the  reading  world  than 
any  other  author  during  his  lifetime.     This  is  an  honorable,  en- 
during, and  far-shining  record.     I  know  not  where  to  turn  for  an 
equal  illustration  of  the  prizes  to  be  won  and  the  dangers  to  be 
encountered  through  the  consecration  of  a  life  to  the  sole  ser- 
vice of  poetry. 

5.  Tennyson   has   thoroughly  experienced  the   two   extreme 
phases  of  the  world's  regard.     For  twelve  years  after  his  first 


5I6  TENNYSON. 

appearance  as  a  poet,  he  was  quietly  overlooked  by  the  public, 
and  was  treated  to  more  derision  than  criticism  by  the  literary 
journals.  When  his  popularity  once  struck  root,  it  grew  rapidly, 
and  in  a  few  years  became  an  overshadowing  fashion.  Since 
the  publication  of  his  first  Idylls  of  the  King,  it  has  been  almost 
considered  as  a  heresy,  in  England,  to  question  the  perfection 
of  his  poetry ;  even  the  sin  of  his  art  came  to  be  regarded  as  its 
special  virtue.  The  estimate  of  his  performance  rose  into  that 
extravagance  which  sooner  or  later  provokes  a  reaction  against 
itself.  There  are,  at  present,  signs  of  the  beginning  of  such  a 
reaction,  and  we  need  not  be  surprised  if  (as  in  Byron's  case)  it 
should  swing  past  the  line  of  justice,  and  end  by  undervaluing, 
for  a  time,  many  of  the  poet's  high  and  genuine  qualities. 
This  is  the  usual  law  of  literary  fame  which  has  known  such 
vicissitudes.  Its  vibrations,  though  lessened,  continue  until 
Time,  the  sure  corrector  of  all  aberrations  of  human  judgment, 
determines  its  moveless  place.  And  Tennyson's  place  in  the 
literature  of  the  English  language,  whatever  may  be  its  relation 
to  that  of  the  acknowledged  masters  of  song,  is  sure  to  be  high 
and  permanent. 


ULYSSES. 


L— ULYSSES. 

[INTRODUCTION. — This  poem  contains  seventy  as  strong  lines  of  blank 
verse  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  English  language.  It  has  been  pronounced 
"the  soul  of  all  Homer."  Under  the  heroic  form  of  the  Homeric  Ulysses, 
the  poem  symbolizes  the  passionate  desire  felt  by  all  noble  souls  "  to  seek  a 
newer  world  " — 

"  To  follow  knowledge,  like  a  sinking  star, 
Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought."] 

It  little  profits  that,  an  idle  king, 
By  this  still  hearth,  among  these  barren  crags, 
Matched  with  an  aged  wife,  I  mete  and  dole 
Unequal  laws  unto  a  savage  race, 
That  hoard  and  sleep  and  feed  and  know  not  me. 
I  cannot  rest  from  travel :  I  will  drink 
Life  to  the  lees.     All  times  I  have  enjoyed 
Greatly,  have  suffered  greatly,  both  with  those 
That  loved  me,  and  alone:  on  shore,  and  when 
Through  scudding  drifts  the  rainy  Hyades 
Vexed  the  dim  sea.     I  am  become  a  name ; 
For,  always  roaming  with  a  hungry  heart, 


NOTES.  —  Ulysses.  Ulysses,  called 
Odysseus  ( 'Odvacrevg )  by  the 
Greeks,  was  one  of  the  princi- 
pal Greek  heroes  in  the  Trojan 
war.  But  the  most  celebrated 
part  of  his  story  consists  of  his 
adventures  after  the  destruction 
of  Troy,  which  form  the  subject 
of  the  Homeric  poem  called, 
after  him,  the  Odyssey. 

I,  2.  idle  king  .  .  .  crags.  Ulysses  is 
here  supposed  to  have  finished 


his  twenty  years  of  adventurous 
wanderings,  and  to  have  re- 
turned to  the  "barren  crags" 
of  the  island  of  Ithaca,  which 
he  ruled. 

3.  aged  wife:  that  is,  Penelope. 
10.  Hyades,  a  cluster  of  five  stars  in 
the  face  of  the  constellation 
Taurus,  supposed  by  the  an- 
cients to  indicate  the  approach 
of  rainy  weather  when  they  rose 
with  the  sun. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-5.  It ...  me.  Is  the  structure  periodic  or  loose  ? 
What  is  the  logical  subject  of  the  verb  "profits,"  of  which  "it"  is  the  antici- 
pative  subject  ? 

3.  mete  and  dole.     What  is  the  distinction  between  these  synonyms  ? 

6,  7.  will  drink  .  .  .  lees.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

II.  Yexed,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech? — I  am  become  a  name.  Ex- 
plain. 


TENNYSON. 

Much  have  I  seen  and  known — cities  of  men, 

And  manners,  climates,  councils,  governments 

(Myself  not  least,  but  honored  of  them  all) —  »s 

And  drunk  delight  of  battle  with  my  peers 

Far  on  the  ringing  plains  of  windy  Troy. 

I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met ; 

Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethrough 

Gleams  that  untravelled  world  whose  margin  fades  20 

Forever  and  forever  when  I  move. 

How  dull  it  is  to  pause,  to  make  an  end, 

To  rust  unburnished,  not  to  shine  in  use  ! 

As  though  to  breathe  were  life.     Life  piled  on  life 

Were  all  too  little,  and  of  one  to  me  25 

Little  remains  ;  but  every  hour  is  saved 

From  that  eternal  silence — something  more, 

A  bringer  of  new  things;  and  vile  it  were 

For  some  three  suns  to  store  and  hoard  myself, 

And  this  gray  spirit  yearning  in  desire  30 

To  follow  knowledge,  like  a  sinking  star, 

Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought. 

This  is  my  son,  mine  own  Telemachus> 
To  whom  I  leave  the  sceptre  and  the  isle — 
Well-loved  of  me,  discerning  to  fulfil  35 

This  labor,  by  slow  prudence  to  make  mild 
A  rugged  people,  and  through  soft  degrees 
Subdue  them  to  the  useful  and  the  good. 
Most  blameless  is  he,  centred  in  the  sphere 
Of  common  duties,  decent  not  to  fail  40 

In  offices  of  tenderness,  and  pay 
Meet  adoration  to  my  household  gods 
When  I  am  gone.     He  works  his  work,  I  mine. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 18.  I  am  a  part,  etc.     Paraphrase  this  statement. 

19-21.  Yet  all ...  move.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? — These  three  noble 
lines  should  be  committed  to  memory. 

23.  To  rust  unburnished,  etc.     On  what  is  the  figure  founded  ? 

27.  that  eternal  silence.     For  what  word  is  this  expression  a  periphrasis  ? 

30.  spirit.     What  is  the  grammatical  construction  ? 

33~43-  This  is  my  son  .  .  .  mine.  Draw  out  in  your  own  language  the  fine 
contrast  of  character  between  Ulysses  and  his  son  Telemachus. 


ULYSSES. 

There  lies  the  port ;  the  vessel  puffs  her  sail ; 
There  gloom  the  dark  broad  seas.     My  mariners?  45 

Souls  that  have  toiled  and  wrought  and  thought  with  me, 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads,  you  and  I  are  old. 
Old  age  hath  yet  his  honor  and  his  toil.  s° 

Death  closes  all ;  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks ; 
The  long  day  wanes  ;  the  slow  moon  climbs  ;  the  deep      ss 
Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come,  my  friends, 
'Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and,  sitting  well  in  order,  smite 
The  sounding  furrows ;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths  60 

Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down  ; 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
Though  much  is  taken,  much  abides  ;  and  though  $s 

We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven,  that  which  we  are,  we  are : 


63.  Happy  Isles,  the  "  Fortunate  Isles," 
or  Islands  of  the  Blessed.  The 
early  Greeks,  as  we  learn  from 
Homer,  placed  the  Elysian 
Fields,  into  which  the  favored 
heroes  passed  without  dying,  at 
the  extremity  of  the  earth,  near 


the  river  Oceanus.  In  poems 
later  than  Homer,  an  island  is 
spoken  of  as  their  abode,  and  is 
placed  by  the  poets  beyond  the 
Pillars  of  Hercules.  The  name 
"  Fortunate  Isles "  was  after- 
wards applied  to  the  Canaries. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 44-53.  There  lies .  .  .  gods.  Of  the  words  in  these 
ten  lines  ten  are  of  other  than  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  What  are  these  words  ? 
What  effect  is  gained  by  the  use  of  so  large  a  proportion  of  Anglo-Saxon 
words  ? — Point  out  an  instance  of  personification  in  this  passage. 

54-70.  The  lights  .  .  .  yield.  In  this  passage  point  out  specially  vigorous  or 
picturesque  words  or  expressions. — Point  out  an  instance  of  metaphor. — Ex- 
plain what  is  meant  by  the  fine  expression  "the  baths  of  all  the  western  stars." 
— Note  the  strong  staccato  effect  of  the  monosyllables  in  the  last  two  lines. 


520  TENNYSON. 


One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 

Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 

To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield.  70 


II.— LOCKSLEY   HALL. 

Comrades,  leave  me  here  a  little,  while  as  yet  'tis  early  morn; 
Leave  me  here,  and  when  you  want  me,  sound  upon  the  bugle- 
horn. 

Tis  the  place,  and  all  around  it,  as  of  old,  the  curlews  call, 
Dreary  gleams  about  the  moorland  flying  over  Locksley  Hall ;      s 

Locksley  Hall,  that  in  the  distance  overlooks  the  sandy  tracts, 
And  the  hollow  ocean-ridges  roaring  into  cataracts. 

Many  a  night  from  yonder  ivied  casement,  ere  I  went  to  rest, 
Did  I  look  on  great  Orion  sloping  slowly  to  the  west. 

Many  a  night  I  saw  the  Pleiads,  rising  through  the   mellow  10 

shade, 
Glitter  like  a  swarm  of  fire-flies  tangled  in  a  silver  braid. 

Here  about  the  beach  I  wandered,  nourishing  a  youth  sublime 
With  the  fairy  tales  of  science,  and  the  long  result  of  time ; 

When  the  centuries  behind  me  like  a  fruitful  land  reposed ;          is 
When  I  clung  to  all  the  present  for  the  promise  that  it  closed : 

When  I  dipped  into  the  future  far  as  human  eye  could  see; 
Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would  be. 

In  the  spring  a  fuller  crimson  comes  upon  the  robin's  breast; 

In  the  spring  the  wanton  lapwing  gets  himself  another  crest ;       ao 

In  the  spring  a  livelier  iris  changes  on  the  burnished  dove ; 
In  the  spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of 
love. 

Then  her  cheek  was  pale  and  thinner  than  should  be  for  one  so 

young,  3S 

And  her  eyes  on  all  my  motions  with  a  mute  observance  hung. 


LOCKSLEY  HALL.  521 

And  I  said,  "  My  cousin  Amy,  speak,  and  speak  the  truth  to  me, 
Trust  me,  cousin,  all  the  current  of  my  being  sets  to  thee." 

On  her  pallid  cheek  and  forehead  came  a  color  and  a  light, 

As  I  have  seen  the  rosy  red  flushing  in  the  northern  night.  30 

And  she  turned — her  bosom  shaken  with  a  sudden  storm  of 

sighs- 
All  the  spirit  deeply  dawning  in  the  dark  of  hazel  eyes — 

Saying,  "I  have  hid  my  feelings,  fearing  they  should  do  me 
wrong;"  3S 

Saying,  "  Dost  thou  love  me,  cousin  ?"  weeping,  "  I  have  loved 
thee  long." 

Love  took  up  the  glass  of  Time,  and  turned  it  in  his  glowing 

hands; 
Every  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  in  golden  sands.  40 

Love  took  up  the  harp  of  Life,  and  smote  on  all  the  chords  with 

might ; 
Smote  the  chord  of  Self,  that,  trembling,  passed  in  music  out  of 

sight. 

Many  a  morning  on  the  moorland  did  we  hear  the  copses  ring,    45 
And  her  whisper  thronged  my  pulses  with  the  fulness  of  the 
spring. 

Many  an  evening  by  the  waters  did  we  watch  the  stately  ships, 
And  our  spirits  rushed  together  at  the  touching  of  the  lips. 

O  my  cousin,  shallow-hearted  !  O  my  Amy,  mine  no  more  !  s© 

O  the  dreary,  dreary  moorland  !  O  the  barren,  barren  shore  ! 

Falser  than  all  fancy  fathoms,  falser  than  all  songs  have  sung, 
Puppet  to  a  father's  threat,  and  servile  to  a  shrewish  tongue ! 

Is  it  well  to  wish  thee  happy  ? — having  known  me — to  decline 
On  a  range  of  lower  feelings  and  a  narrower  heart  than  mine !     ss 

Yet  it  shall  be :  thou  shalt  lower  to  his  level  day  by  day, 
What  is  fine  within  thee  growing  coarse  to  sympathize  with 
clay. 


522  TENNYSON. 

As  the  husband  is,  the  wife  is :  thou  art  mated  with  a  clown, 
And  the  grossness  of  his  nature  will  have  weight  to  drag  thee  60 
down. 

He  will  hold  thee,  when  his  passion  shall  have  spent  its  novel 

force, 
Something  better  than  his  dog,  a  little  dearer  than  his  horse. 

What  is  this  ?  his  eyes  are  heavy  :  think  not  they  are  glazed  with  65 

wine. 
Go  to  him  (it  is  thy  duty ;  kiss  him) ;  take  his  hand  in  thine. 

It  may  be  my  lord  is  weary,  that  his  brain  is  overwrought : 
Soothe  him  with  thy  finer  fancies,  touch  him  with  thy  lighter 
thought.  7° 

He  will  answer  to  the  purpose,  easy  things  to  understand — 
Better  thou  wert  dead  before  me,  though  I  slew  thee  with  my 
hand! 

Better  thou  and  I  were  lying,  hidden  from  the  heart's  disgrace, 
Rolled  in  one  another's  arms,  and  silent  in  a  last  embrace.  is 

Curse'd  be  the   social  wants  that  sin  against  the  strength   of 

youth ! 
Curse'd  be  the  social  lies  that  warp  us  from  the  living  truth ! 

Curse'd  be  the  sickly  forms  that  err  from  honest  Nature's  rule ! 
Curse'd  be  the  gold  that  gilds  the  straitened  forehead  of  the  &> 
fool! 

Well — 'tis  well  that  I  should  bluster!  Hadst  thou  less  un- 
worthy proved— 

Would  to  God — for  I  had  loved  thee  more  than  ever  wife  was 
loved.  8s 

Am  I  mad  that  I  should  cherish  that  which  bears  but  bitter 

fruit  ? 
I  will  pluck  it  from  my  bosom,  though  my  heart  be  at  the  root. 

Never,  though  my  mortal  summers  to  such  length  of  years  should 
come  ^ 

As  the  many -wintered  crow  that  leads  the  clanging  rookery 
home. 


LOCKSLEY  HALL.  523 

Where  is  comfort  ?  in  division  of  the  records  of  the  mind  ? 
Can  I  part  her  from  herself,  and  love  her,  as  I  knew  her,  kind  ? 

I   remember  one   that  perished:    sweetly  did   she   speak   and  95 

move: 
Such  an  one  do  I  remember,  whom  to  look  at  was  to  love. 

Can  I  think  of  her  as  dead,  and  love  her  for  the  love  she  bore  ? 
No ;  she  never  loved  me  truly :  love  is  love  for  evermore. 

Comfort  ?  comfort  scorned  of  devils  !     This  is  truth  the  poet  100 

sings, 
That   a   sorrow's    crown    of   sorrow   is    remembering   happier 

things. 

Drug  thy  memories,  lest  thou  learn  it,  lest  thy  heart  be  put  to 

proof,  I05 

In  the  dead,  unhappy  night,  when  the  rain  is  on  the  roof. 

Like  a  dog,  he  hunts  in  dreams,  and  thou  art  staring  at  the  wall, 
Where  the  dying  night-lamp  flickers  and  the  shadows  rise  and 
fall. 

Then  a  hand  shall  pass  before  thee,  pointing  to  his  drunken  no 

sleep, 
To  thy  widowed  marriage  pillows,  to  the  tears  that  thou  wilt 

weep. 

Thou  shalt  hear  the  "  Never,  never,"  whispered  by  the  phantom 

years,  "5 

And  a  song  from  out  the  distance  in  the  ringing  of  thine  ears; 

And  an  eye  shall  vex  thee,  looking  ancient  kindness  on  thy 

pain. 
Turn  thee,  turn  thee  on  thy  pillow ;  get  thee  to  thy  rest  again. 

Nay,  but  Nature  brings  thee  solace ;  for  a  tender  voice  will  cry.  120 
'Tis  a  purer  life  than  thine;  a  lip  to  drain  thy  trouble  dry. 

Baby  lips  will  laugh  me  down  :  my  latest  rival  brings  thee  rest. 
Baby  fingers,  waxen  touches,  press  me  from  the  mother's  breast. 

Oh,  the  child,  too,  clothes  the  father  with  a  dearness  not  his  due 
Half  is  thine  and  half  is  his :  it  will  be  worthy  of  the  two.  125 


524  TENNYSON. 

Oh,  I  see  thee  old  and  formal,  fitted  to  thy  petty  part, 
With  a  little  hoard  of  maxims  preaching  down   a  daughter's 
heart. 

"They  were  dangerous  guides  the  feelings — she  herself  was  not 

exempt —  I3° 

Truly,  she  herself  had  suffered."— Perish  in  thy  self-contempt ! 

Overlive  it— lower  yet — be  happy  !  wherefore  should  I  care  ? 
I  myself  must  mix  with  action,  lest  I  wither  by  despair. 

What  is  that  which  I  should  turn  to,  lighting  upon  days  like 

these  ?  '35 

Every  door  is  barred  with  gold,  and  opens  but  to  golden  keys. 

Every  gate  is  thronged  with  suitors,  all  the  markets  overflow. 
I  have  but  an  angry  fancy :  what  is  that  which  I  should  do  ? 

I  had  been  content  to  perish,  falling  on  the  foeman's  ground, 
When  the  ranks  are  rolled  in  vapor  and  the  winds  are  laid  with  140 
sound. 

But  the  jingling  of  the  guinea  helps  the  hurt  that  Honor  feels, 
And  the  nations  do  but  murmur,  snarling  at  each  other's  heels. 

Can  I  but  relive  in  sadness  ?     I  will  turn  that  earlier  page. 

Hide  me  from  my  deep  emotion,  O  thou  wondrous  Mother  Age  !  us 

Make  me  feel  the  wild  pulsation  that  I  felt  before  the  strife, 
When  I  heard  my  days  before  me,  and  the  tumult  of  my  life ; 

Yearning  for  the  large  excitement  that  the  coming  years  would 

yield; 
Eager-hearted  as  a  boy  when  first  he  leaves  his  father's  field,       150 

And  at  night  along  the  dusky  highway,  near  and  nearer  drawn, 
Sees  in  heaven  the  light  of  London  flaring  like  a  dreary  dawn; 

And  his  spirit  leaps  within  him  to  be  gone  before  him  then, 
Underneath  the  light  he  looks  at,  in  among  the  throngs  of  men — 

Men  my  brothers,  men  the  workers,  ever  reaping  something  155 

new : 
That  which  they  have  done  but  earnest  of  the  things  that  they 

shall  do. 


LOCKSLEY  HALL.  525 

For  I  dipped  into  the  future  far  as  human  eye  could  see, 

Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would  be ;  160 

Saw  the  heavens  fill  with  commerce,  argosies  of  magic  sails, 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  bales ; 

Heard  the  heavens  fill  with  shouting,  and  there  rained  a  ghastly 

dew 
From  the  nations'  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  central  blue ;         165 

Far  along  the  world-wide  whisper  of  the  south  wind  rushing 
warm, 

With  the  standards  of  the  peoples  plunging  through  the  thun- 
der-storm ; 

Till  the  war-drum  throbbed  no  longer,  and  the  battle-flags  were  170 

furled 
In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  Federation  of  the  world. 

There  the  common-sense  of  most  shall  hold  a  fretful  realm  in 

awe, 
And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapped  in  universal  law.         i75 

So  I  triumphed  ere  my  passion  sweeping  through  me  left  me 

dry, 
Left  me  with  the  palsied  heart,  and  left  me  with  the  jaundiced 

eye — 

Eye  to  which  all  order  festers,  all  things  here  are  out  of  joint :     180 
Science  moves,  but  slowly,  slowly,  creeping  on  from  point  to 
point. 

Slowly  comes  a  hungry  people,  as  a  lion,  creeping  nigher, 
Glares  at  one  that  nods  and  winks  behind  a  slowly  dying  fire. 

Yet  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs,    185 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the 
suns. 

What  is  that  to  him  that  reaps  not  harvest  of  his  youthful  joys, 
Though  the  deep  heart  of  existence  beat  forever  like  a  boy's ! 

Knowledge    comes,  but  wisdom    lingers,  and   I   linger   on  thei90 

shore, 
And  the  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is  more  and  more. 


526  TENNVSON. 

Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  and  he  bears  a  laden 

breast, 
Full  of  sad  experience,  moving  toward  the  stillness  of  his  rest.     IQS 

Hark,  my  merry  comrades  call  me,  sounding  on  the  bugle-horn, 
They  to  whom  my  foolish  passion  were  a  target  for  their  scorn : 

Shall  it  not  be    scorn  to  me  to  harp  on  such   a   mouldered 

string  ? 
I  am  shamed  through  all  my  nature  to  have  loved  so  slight  a  200 

thing. 

Weakness  to  be  wroth  with  weakness !  woman's  pleasure,  wom- 
an's pain- 
Nature  made  them  blinder  motions  bounded  in  a   shallower 

brain.  205 

Woman  is  the  lesser  man,  and  all  thy  passions,  matched  with 

mine, 
Are  as  moonlight  unto  sunlight,  and  as  water  unto  wine. 

Here  at  least,  where  nature   sickens,  nothing.      Ah  for  some 

retreat  210 

Deep  in  yonder  shining  Orient,  where  my  life  began  to  beat ; 

WThere  in  wild  Mahratta-battle  fell  my  father,  evil-starred ! 
I  was  left  a  trampled  orphan  and  a  selfish  uncle's  ward. 

Or  to  burst  all  links  of  habit,  there  to  wander  far  away, 

On  from  island  unto  island  at  the  gate-ways  of  the  day.  215 

Larger  constellations  burning,  mellow  moons  and  happy  skies, 
Breadths  of  tropic  shade  and  palms  in  cluster,  knots  of  Para- 
dise. 

Never  comes  the  trader,  never  floats  an  European  flag, 
Slides  the  bird  o'er  lustrous  woodland,  swings  the  trailer  from  22- 
the  crag ; 

Droops    the   heavy-blossomed  bower,  hangs    the   heavy-fruited 

tree — 
Summer  isles  of  Eden  lying  in  dark-purple  spheres  of  sea. 


LOCKSLEY  HALL.  527 

There  methinks  would  be  enjoyment  more  than  in  this  march  of  225 
mind, 

In  the  steamship,  in  the  railway,  in  the  thoughts  that  shake  man- 
kind. 

There  the  passions  cramped  no  longer  shall  have  scope  and 

breathing-space ;  230 

I  will  take  some  savage  woman,  she  shall  rear  my  dusky  race. 

Iron-jointed,  supple-sinewed,  they  shall  dive  and  they  shall  run, 
Catch  the  wild  goat  by  the  hair  and  hurl  their  lances  in  the 


Whistle  back  the  parrot's  call  and  leap  the  rainbows  of  the  235 

brooks, 
Not  with  blinded  eyesight  poring  over  miserable  books. 

Fool,  again  the  dream,  the  fancy!  but  I  know  my  words  are 

wild, 
But  I  count  the  gray  barbarian  lower  than  the  Christian  child.     240 

/,  to  herd  with  narrow  foreheads,  vacant  of  our  glorious  gains. 
Like  a   beast  with  lower  pleasures,   like   a  beast  with   lower 
pains ! 

Mated  with  a  squalid  savage — what  to  me  were  sun  or  clime  ? 

I  the  heir  of  all  the  ages,  in  the  foremost  files  of  time —  24s 

I  that  rather  held  it  better  men  should  perish  one  by  one 
Than  that  earth  should  stand  at  gaze  like  Joshua's  moon  in 
Ajalon ! 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beacons.  Forward,  forward  let  us 

range.  250 

Let  the  great  world  spin  forever  down  the  ringing  grooves  of 
change. 

Through  the  shadow  of  the  globe  we  sweep  into  the  younger 

day: 
Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay.  255 

Mother  Age  (for  mine  I  knew  not),  help  me  as  when  life  begun  : 
Rift  the  hills,  and  roll  the  waters,  flash  the  lightnings,  weigh  the 
Sun. 


5  28  TENNYSON. 

Oh,  I  see  the  crescent  promise  of  my  spirit  hath  not  set. 

Ancient  founts  of  inspiration  well  through  all  my  fancy  yet.          260 

Howsoever  these  things  be,  a  long  farewell  to  Locksley  Hall ! 
Now  for  me  the  woods  may  wither,  now  for  me  the  roof-tree 
fall. 

Comes  a  vapor  from  the  margin,  blackening  over  heath  and 

holt,  26s 

Cramming  all  the  blast  before  it,  in  its  breast  a  thunderbolt. 

Let  it  fall  on  Locksley  Hall,  with  rain  or  hail,  or  fire  or  snow ; 
For  the  mighty  wind  arises,  roaring  seaward,  and  I  go. 


XXXVI. 

WILLIAM    M.  THACKERAY. 

1811-1863, 


TRIBUTE  BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

i.  I  saw  Thackeray  first,  nearly  twenty-eight  years  ago,  when 
he  proposed  to  become  the  illustrator  of  my  earliest  book.  I 
saw  him  last,  shortly  before  Christmas,1  at  the  Athenaeum  Club, 


1 1863. 
34 


53o  THACKERAY. 

when  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  in  bed  three  days — that,  after 
these  attacks,  he  was  troubled  with  cold  shiverings,  "  which  quite 
took  the  power  of  work  out  of  him  " — and  that  he  had  it  in  his 
mind  to  try  a  new  remedy  which  he  laughingly  described.  He 
was  very  cheerful,  and  looked  very  bright.  In  the  night  of  that 
day  week  he  died. 

2.  The  long  interval  between  those  two  periods  is  marked  in 
my  remembrance  of  him  by  many  occasions  when  he  was  su- 
premely humorous,  when  he  was  irresistibly  extravagant,  when 
he  was  softened  and  serious,  when  he  was  charming  with  chil- 
dren.    But  by  none  do  I  recall  him  more  tenderly  than  by  two 
or  three  that  start  out  of  the  crowd,  when  he  unexpectedly  pre- 
sented himself  in  my  room,  announcing  how  that  some  passage 
in  a  certain  book  had  made  him  cry  yesterday,  and  how  that  he 
had  come  to  dinner,  "because  he  couldn't  help  it,"  and  must 
talk  such  passage  over.     No  one  can  ever  have  seen  him  more 
genial,  natural,  cordial,  fresh,  and   honestly  impulsive  than   I 
have  seen  him  at  those  times.     No  one  can  be  surer  than  I  of 
the  greatness  and  goodness  of  the  heart  that  then  disclosed  it- 
self. 

3.  We  had  our  differences  of  opinion.     I  thought  that  he  too 
much  feigned  a  want  of  earnestness,  and  that  he  made  a  pre- 
tence of  undervaluing  his  art,  which  was  not  good  for  the  art 
that  he  held  in  trust.     But  when  we  fell  upon  these  topics,  it 
was  never  very  gravely,  and  I  have  a  lively  image  of  him  in  my 
mind,  twisting  both  his  hands  in  his  hair,  and  stamping  about, 
laughing,  to  make  an  end  of  the  discussion. 

4.  When  we  were  associated  in  remembrance  of  the  late  Mr. 
Douglas  Jerrold,  he  delivered  a  public  lecture  in  London,  in  the 
course  of  which  he  read  his  very  best  contribution  to  Punch, 
describing  the  grown-up  cares  of  a  poor  family  of  young  chil- 
dren.     No  one  hearing   him  could  have   doubted  his  natural 
gentleness,  or  his  thoroughly  unaffected  manly  sympathy  with 
the  weak  and  lowly.     He  read  the  paper  most  pathetically,  and 
with  a  simplicity  of  tenderness  that  certainly  moved  one  of  his 
audience  to  tears.    This  was  presently  after  his  standing  for  Ox- 
ford, from  which  place  he  had  despatched  his  agent  to  me,  with 
a  droll  note  (to  which  he  afterward  added  a  verbal  postscript), 
urging  me  to  "  come  down  and  make  a  speech,  and  tell  them 


DICKENS'S   TRIBUTE    TO    THACKERAY.  53  x 

who  he  was,  for  he  doubted  whether  more  than  two  of  the  elec- 
tors had  ever  heard  of  him,  and  he  thought  there  might  be  as 
many  as  six  or  eight  who  had  heard  of  me."  He  introduced 
the  lecture  just  mentioned  with  a  reference  to  his  late  elec- 
tioneering failure,  which  was  full  of  good  sense,  good  spirits, 
and  good  humor. 

5.  He  had  a  particular  delight  in  boys,  and  an  excellent  way 
with  them.     I  remember  his  once  asking  me  with  fantastic  grav- 
ity, when  he  had  been  to  Eton  where  my  eldest  son  then  was, 
whether  I  felt  as  he  did  in  regard  of  never  seeing  a  boy  without 
wanting  instantly  to  give  him  a  sovereign  ?     I  thought  of  this 
when  I  looked  down  into  his  grave,  after  he  was  laid  there,  for  I 
looked  down  into  it  over  the  shoulder  of  a  boy  to  whom  he  had 
been  kind. 

6.  These  are  slight  remembrances ;  but  it  is  to  little  familiar 
things  suggestive  of  the  voice,  look,  manner — never,  never  more 
to  be  encountered  on  this  earth — that  the  mind  first  turns  in  a 
bereavement.     And  greater  things  that  are  known  of  him,  in  the 
way  of  his  warm  affections,  his  quiet  endurance,  his  unselfish 
thoughtfulness    for   others,  and  his   munificent   hand,  may   be 
told. 

7.  If,  in  the  reckless  vivacity  of  his  youth,  his  satirical  pen  had 
ever  gone  astray  or  done  amiss,  he  had  caused  it  to  prefer  its 
own  petition  for  forgiveness,  long  before  : 

I've  writ  the  foolish  fancy  of  his  brain  ; 

The  aimless  jest  that,  striking,  hath  caused  pain ; 

The  idle  word  that  he'd  wish  back  again. 

8.  In  no  pages  should  I  take  it  upon  myself  at  this  time  to 
discourse  of  his  books,  of  his  refined  knowledge  of  character,  of 
his  subtle  acquaintance  with  the  weaknesses  of  human  nature,  of 
his  delightful  playfulness  as  an  essayist,  of  his  quaint  and  touch- 
ing ballads,  of  his  mastery  over  the  English  language.     Least  of 
all,  in  these  pages,  enriched  by  his  brilliant  qualities  from  the 
first  of  the  series,  and  beforehand  accepted  by  the  public  through 
the  strength  of  his  great  name. 

9.  But,  on  the  table  before  me,  there  lies  all  that  he  had  writ- 
ten of  his  latest  and  last  story.     That  it  would  be  very  sad  to 
any  one — that  it  is  inexpressibly  so  to  a  writer — in  its  evidences 


532  THACKERAY. 

of  matured  designs  never  to  be  accomplished,  of  intentions  be- 
gun to  be  executed  and  destined  never  to  be  completed,  of  care- 
ful preparation  for  long  roads  of  thought  that  he  was  never  to 
traverse,  and  for  shining  goals  that  he  was  never  to  reach,  will 
be  readily  believed.  The  pain,  however,  that  I  have  felt  in  pe- 
rusing it  has  not  been  deeper  than  the  conviction  that  he  was  in 
the  healthiest  vigor  of  his  powers  when  he  wrought  on  this  last 
labor.  In  respect  of  earnest  feeling,  far-seeing  purpose,  char- 
acter, incident,  and  a  certain  loving  picturesqueness  blending 
the  whole,  I  believe  it  to  be  much  the  best  of  all  his  works. 
That  he  fully  meant  it  to  be  so,  that  he  had  become  strongly 
attached  to  it,  and  that  he  bestowed  great  pains  upon  it,  I  trace 
in  almost  every  page.  It  contains  one  picture  which  must  have 
cost  him  extreme  distress,  and  which  is  a  masterpiece.  There 
are  two  children  in  it,  touched  with  a  hand  as  loving  and  tender 
as  ever  a  father  caressed  his  little  child  with.  There  is  some 
young  love,  as  pure  and  innocent  and  pretty  as  the  truth.  And 
it  is  very  remarkable  that,  by  reason  of  the  singular  construction 
of  the  story,  more  than  one  main  incident  usually  belonging  to 
the  end  of  such  a  fiction  is  anticipated  in  the  beginning,  and 
thus  there  is  an  approach  to  completeness  in  the  fragment,  as  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  reader's  mind  concerning  the  most  inter- 
esting persons,  which  could  hardly  have  been  better  attained  if 
the  writer's  breaking-off  had  been  foreseen. 

10.  The  last  line  he  wrote,  and  the  last  proof  he  corrected,  are 
among  these  papers  through  which  I  have  so  sorrowfully  made 
my  way.  The  condition  of  the  little  pages  of  manuscript  where 
Death  stopped  his  hand  shows  that  he  had  carried  them  about, 
and  often  taken  them  out  of  his  pocket  here  and  there,  for  pa- 
tient revision  and  interlineation.  The  last  words  he  corrected 
in  print  were,  "And  my  heart  throbbed  with  an  exquisite  bliss." 
God  grant  that  on  that  Christmas  Eve,  when  he  laid  his  head 
back  on  his  pillow  and  threw  up  his  arms  as  he  had  been  wont 
to  do  when  very  weary,  some  consciousness  of  duty  done  and 
Christian  hope  throughout  life  humbly  cherished  may  have 
caused  his  own  heart  so  to  throb  when  he  passed  away  to  his 
Redeemer's  rest  1 


DE  FINIBUS. 


DE   FINIBUS. 


533 


[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  paper,  De  Finibus  (Concerning  Conclu- 
sions), is  one  of  a  series  which,  under  the  title  of  "  Roundabout  Papers,"  was 
published  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine.  It  has  reference  to  the  finishing  of  the 
novel  called  The  Adventures  of  Philip,  the  last  complete  work  of  Thackeray. 
To  extract  from  novels  is  an  unsatisfactory  task,  and  hence  this  paper  is  se- 
lected as  having  the  advantage  of  completeness.  Though  it  does  not  show 
the  author  at  his  best,  it  is  characterized  by  much  of  his  rare  charm  of  style.] 

i.  When  Swift  was  in  love  with  Stella,  and  despatching  her  a 
letter  from  London  thrice  a  month  by  the  Irish  packet,  you  may 
remember  how  he  would  begin  letter  No.  XXIII.,  we  will  say, on 
the  very  day  when  XXII.  had  been  sent  away,  stealing  out  of  the 
coffee-house  or  the  assembly  so  as  to  be  able  to  prattle  with  his  s 
dear ;  "  never  letting  go  her  kind  hand,  as  it  were,"  as  some  com- 
mentator or  other  has  said  in  speaking  of  the  Dean  and  his 
amour.  When  Mr.  Johnson,  walking  to  Dodsley's,  and  touching 
the  posts  in  Pall  Mall  as  he  walked,  forgot  to  pat  the  head  of 
one  of  them,  he  went  back  and  imposed  his  hands  on  it,  impelled  10 
I  know  not  by  what  superstition.  I  have  this,  I  hope  not  dan- 
gerous, mania,  too.  As  soon  as  a  piece  of  work  is  out  of  hand, 
and  before  going  to  sleep,  I  like  to  begin  another :  it  may  be  to 
write  only  half  a  dozen  lines  ;  but  there  is  something  towards 
Number  the  Next.  The  printer's  boy  has  not  yet  reached  Green  15 
Arbor  Court  with  the  copy.  Those  people  who  were  alive  half 
an  hour  since — Pendennis,  Olive  Newcome,  and  (what  do  you 
call  him  ?  what  was  the  name  of  the  last  hero  ?  I  remember 
now !)  Philip  Firmin — have  hardly  drunk  their  glass  of  wine, 
and  the  mammas  have  only  this  minute  got  the  children's  cloaks  20 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — i.  Swift.  Who  was  Swift  ?  (See  Characterization 
of  him  in  this  book.) 

1-8.  When  .  .  .  amour.    What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?    Rhetorically  ? 

8.  Mr.  Johnson.  Who  was  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson?  (See  Characterization  in 
this  book.) 

I o,  II.  impelled ...  superstition.  Give  the  grammatical  analysis  of  these 
words. 

16.  copy.     Meaning  of  the  word? 

17-19.  Pendennis,  Olive  Newcome  .  .  .  Philip  Firmin.  State  in  which  of  the 
novels  of  Thackeray  these  characters  appear. — In  what  consists  the  drollery 
of  the  mode  in  which  the  name  "  Philip  Firmin  "  is  introduced  ? 


THACKERAY. 

on,  and  have  been  bowed  out  of  my  premises,  and  here  I  come 
back  to  the  study  again :  tamen  usque  recurro.  How  lonely  it 
looks,  now  all  these  people  are  gone !  My  dear,  good  friends, 
some  folks  are  utterly  tired  of  you,  and  say,  "  What  a  poverty  of 
friends  the  man  has  !  He  is  always  asking  us  to  meet  those  25 
Pendennises,  Newcomes,  and  so  forth.  Why  does  he  not  intro- 
duce us  to  some  new  characters  ?  Why  is  he  not  thrilling  like 
Twostars,  learned  and  profound  like  Threestars,  exquisitely  hu- 
morous and  human  like  Fourstars?  Why,  finally,  is  he  not 
somebody  else  ?"  My  good  people,  it  is  not  only  impossible  to  3° 
please  you  all,  but  it  is  absurd  to  try.  The  dish  which  one  man 
devours,  another  dislikes.  Is  the  dinner  of  to-day  not  to  your 
taste  ?  Let  us  hope  to-morrow's  entertainment  will  be  more 
agreeable.  ...  I  resume  my  original  subject.  What  an  odd, 
pleasant,  humorous,  melancholy  feeling  it  is  to  sit  in  the  study,  35 
alone  and  quiet,  now  all  these  people  are  gone  who  have  been 
boarding  and  lodging  with  me  for  twenty  months !  They  have 
interrupted  my  rest ;  they  have  plagued  me  at  all  sorts  of  min« 
utes ;  they  have  thrust  themselves  upon  me  when  I  was  ill  or 
wished  to  be  idle,  and  I  have  growled  out  a  "  Be  hanged  to  you !  40 
can't  you  leave  me  alone  now  ?"  Once  or  twice  they  have  pre- 
vented my  going  out  to  dinner.  Many  and  many  a  time  they 
have  prevented  my  coming  home,  because  I  knew  they  were 
there  waiting  in  the  study,  and  a  plague  take  them  !  and  I  have 
left  home  and  family,  and  gone  to  dine  at  the  Club,  and  told  no-  45 
body  where  I  went.  They  have  bored  me,  those  people.  They 
have  plagued  me  at  all  sorts  of  uncomfortable  hours.  They 
have  made  such  a  disturbance  in  my  mind  and  house  that 
sometimes  I  have  hardly  known  what  was  going  on  in  my  fami- 
ly, and  scarcely  have  heard  what  my  neighbor  said  to  me.  They  sc 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 22.  tamen  usque  recurro,  "yet  do  I  always  return.' 
(For  the  full  quotation,  of  which  this  is  an  adaptation,  see  Webster's  Diction- 
ary, under  Latin  Quotations— Naturam  expellas,  etc.) 

22,  23.  How  lonely  . . .  gone!     What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ? 

24,  25.  What  a  poverty  of  friends.     Substitute  a  synonymous  expression. 

31,  32.  The  dish  .  .  .  dislikes.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech?  What  com- 
mon  proverb  expresses  the  same  sentiment  ? 

37.  boarding  and  lodging  with  me.     Explain. 

46.  They .  .  .  people.     Point  out  the  pleonasm. 


DE  FINIBUS. 


535 


are  gone  at  last,  and  you  would  expect  me  to  be  at  ease  ?  Far 
from  it.  I  should  almost  be  glad  if  Woolcomb  would  walk  in 
and  talk  to  me  or  Twysden  reappear,  take  his  place  in  that  chair 
opposite  me,  and  begin  one  of  his  tremendous  stories. 

2.  Madmen,  you  know,  see  visions,  hold  conversations  with,  even  55 
draw  the  likeness  of,  people  invisible  to  you  and  me.     Is  this 
making  of  people  out  of  fancy  madness,  and  are  novel-writers  at 
all  entitled  to  strait-waistcoats  ?     I  often  forget  people's  names 
in  life,  and  in  my  own  stories  contritely  own  that  I  make  dread- 
ful blunders  regarding  them  ;  but  I  declare,  my  dear  sir,  with  re-  60 
spect  to  the  personages  introduced  into  your  humble  servant's 
fables,  I  know  the  people  utterly — I  know  the  sound  of  their 
voices.     A  gentleman  came  in  to  see  me  the  other  day,  who  was 
so  like  the  picture  of  Philip  Firmin  in  Mr.  Walker's  charming 
drawings  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine  that  he  was  quite  a  curiosity  65 
to  me.     The  same  eyes,  beard,  shoulders,  just  as  you  have  seen 
them  from  month  to   month.     Well,  he  is  not  like  the  Philip 
Firmin  in  my  mind.     Asleep,  asleep  in  the  grave,  lies  the  bold, 
the  generous,  the  reckless,  the  tender-hearted  creature  whom  I 
have  made  to  pass  through  those  adventures  which  have  just  70 
been  brought  to  an  end.     It  is  years  since  I  heard  the  laughter 
ringing,  or  saw  the  bright  blue  eyes.     When  I  knew  him,  both 
were  young.     I  become  young  as  I   think  of  him.     And  this 
morning  he  was   alive   again   in  this  room,  ready  to   laugh,  to 
fight,  to  weep.     As  I  write,  do  you  know,  it  is  the  gray  of  even-  75 
ing ;  the  house  is  quiet ;  everybody  is  out ;  the  room  is  getting 
a  little  dark ;  and  I  look  rather  wistfully  up  from  the  paper  with 
perhaps  ever  so  little  fancy  that  HE  MAY  COME  IN. — No  ?     No 
movement.     No  gray  shade,  growing  more  palpable,  out  of  which 
at  last  look  the  well-known  eyes.     No  ;  the  printer  came  and  8c 
took  him  away  with  the  last  page  of  the  proofs.     And  with  the 
printer's  boy  did  the  whole  cortege  of  ghosts  flit  away,  invisible  ? 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 55.  Madmen,  you  know,  etc.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

58.  strait-waistcoats.     Explain. 

62. 1  know  the  people  utterly.  How  is  this  general  statement  rendered  em 
phatic  by  a  specific  instance  of  his  knowledge? 

68.  Asleep,  etc.  Point  out  the  example  of  epizeuxis.  (See  Def.  85.) — How 
does  the  order  of  the  words  add  to  the  vivacity  of  the  sentence. — Arrange  the 
sentence  in  the  prose  order 


536  THACKERAY. 

Ha  !  stay  !  what  is  this  ?     Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  !     The 
door  opens,  and  a  dark  form — enters,  bearing  a  black — a  black 
suit  of  clothes.     It  is  John.     He  says  it  is  time  to  dress  for  85 
dinner. 

****** 

3.  Every  man  who  has  had  his  German  tutor,  and  has  been 
coached  through  the  famous  Faust  of  Goethe  (thou  wert  my  in- 
structor, good  old  Weissenborn,  and  these  eyes  beheld  the  great 
master  himself  in  dear  little  Weimar  town !),  has  read  those  9° 
charming  verses  which  are  prefixed  to  the  drama,  in  which  the 
poet  reverts  to  the  time  when  his  work  was  first  composed,  and 
recalls  the" friends,  now  departed,  who  once  listened  to  his  song. 
The  dear  shadows  rise  up  around  him,  he  says  ;  he  lives  in  the 
past  again.  It  is  to-day  which  appears  vague  and  visionary.  95 
We  humbler  writers  cannot  create  Fausts,  or  raise  up  monumen- 
tal works  that  shall  endure  for  all  ages;  but  our  books  are 
diaries,*  in  which  our  own  feelings  must  of  necessity  be  set  down. 
As  we  look  to  the  page  written  last  month,  or  ten  years  ago,  we 
remember  the  day  and  its  events — the  child  ill,  mayhap,  in  the  100 
adjoining  room,  and  the  doubts  and  fears  which  racked  the  brain 
as  it  still  pursued  its  work ;  the  dear  old  friend  who  read  the 
commencement  of  the  tale,  and  whose  gentle  hand  shall  be  laid 
in  ours  no  more.  I  own,  for  my  part,  that,  in  reading  pages 
which  this  hand  penned  formerly,  I  often  lose  sight  of  the  text  103 
under  my  eyes.  It  is  not  the  words  I  see,  but  that  past  day ; 
that  by-gone  page  of  life's  history  ;  that  tragedy,  comedy  it  may 
be,  which  our  little  home  company  was  enacting;  that  merry- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 83-86.  Ha!  ...  dinner.  What  kind  of  sentence 
grammatically  is  the  first  ?  The  second  ?  TJie  third  ? — From  what  poet  is  the 
exclamation  "Angels  and  ministers  of  grace!"  a  partial  quotation? — In  what 
manner  is  the  melodramatic  effect  of  the  passage  worked  up  ? — Point  out  the 
anticlimax. 

88.  coached.     Explain  the  term. — Who  was  Goethe? 

94.  The  dear  shadows.     Explain. 

95.  It  is,  etc.     What  figure  of  speech  is  exemplified  in  this  sentence? 

96,  97.  raise  up  ...  ages.     Express  in  other  language. 

97,  98.  our  books  are  diaries.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

106-110.  It  i«  . . .  buried.  Point  out  an  example  of  antithesis.  Ofepizeuxis. 
—Point  out  the  pathetic  element. 


DE  FINIBUS.  537 

making  which  we  shared  ;  that  funeral  which  we  followed  ;  that 
bitter,  bitter  grief  which  we  buried.  no 

4.  And  such  being  the  state  of  my  mind,  I  pray  gentle  readers 
to  deal  kindly  with  their  humble  servant's  manifold  short-com- 
ings, blunders,  and  slips  of  memory.     As  sure  as  I  read  a  page 
of  my  own  composition,  I  find  a  fault  or  two — half  a  dozen. 
Jones  is  called  Brown.     Brown,  who  is  dead,  is  brought  to  life.  115 
Aghast,  and  months  after  the  number  was  printed,  I  saw  that  I 
had  called  Philip  Firmin,  Clive  Newcome.    Now  Clive  Newcome 

is  the  hero  of  another  story  by  the  reader's  most  obedient 
writer.  The  two  men  are  as  different,  in  my  mind's  eye,  as — as 
Lord  Palmerston  and  Mr.  Disraeli,  let  us  say.  But  th'ere  is  that  no 
blunder  at  page  990,  line  76,  volume  Ixxxiv.  of  the  Cornhill 
Magazine,  and  it  is  past  mending ;  and  I  wish  in  my  life  I  had 
made  no  worse  blunders  or  errors  than  that  which  is  hereby 
acknowledged. 

5.  Another  Finis  written;   another  milestone  passed  on  this  135 
journey  from  birth  to  the  next  world !     Sure  it  is  a  subject  for 
solemn  cogitation.    Shall  we  continue  this  story-telling  business, 
and  be  voluble*  to  the  end  of  our  age  ?    Will  it  not  be  presently 
time,  O  prattler,  to  hold  your  tongue,  and  let  younger  people 
speak?     I  have  a  friend,  a  painter,  who,  like  other  persons  who  130 
shall  be  nameless,  is  growing  old.     He  has  never  painted  with 
such  laborious  finish  as  his  works  now  show.     This  master  is 
still  the  most  humble  and  diligent  of  scholars.     Of  Art,  his  mis- 
tress, he  is  always  an  eager,  reverent  pupil.     In  his  calling,  in 
yours,  in  mine,  industry  and  humility  will  help  and  comfort  us.  135 
A  word  with  you.     In  a  pretty  large  experience,  I  have  not 
found  the  men  who  write  books  superior  in  wit  or  learning  to 
those  who  don't  write  at  all.     In  regard  of  mere  information, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 117.  had  called  .  .  .  Newcome.     This  was  an  instance 
of  what  has  been  called  heterophemy. 

123.  blunders  or  errors.     Is  there  any  distinction  between  these  synonyms? 

125.  written  .  .  .  passed.     What  is  the  effect  of  the  omission  of  the  auxiliary 
verb  ? 

126.  Sure.     Used  by  enallage  for  what  word  ? 

127.  solemn  cogitation.     Substitute  synonyms. 

131-134.  He ...  pnpil.    Observe  that  the  same  thought  is  here  thrice  stated, 
but  with  skilful  variation  of  language. 


538  THACKERAY. 

non-writers  must  often  be  superior  to  writers.  You  don't  ex- 
pect a  lawyer  in  full  practice  to  be  conversant  with  all  kinds  of  i;° 
literature,  he  is  too  busy  with  his  law ;  and  so  a  writer  is  com- 
monly too  busy  with  his  own  books  to  be  able  to  bestow  atten- 
tion on  the  works  of  other  people.  After  a  day's  work  (in  which 
I  have  been  depicting,  let  us  say,  the  agonies  of  Louisa  on  part- 
ing with  the  captain,  or  the  atrocious  behavior  of  the  wicked  us 
marquis*  to  Lady  Emily)  I  march  to  the  Club,  propose  to  im- 
prove my  mind  and  keep  myself  "  posted  up,"  as  the  Americans 
phrase  it,  with  the  literature  of  the  day.  And  what  happens  ? 
Given,  a  walk  after  luncheon,  a  pleasing  book,  and  a  most  com- 
fortable arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and  you  know  the  rest.  A  doze  150 
ensues.  Pleasing  book  drops  suddenly,  is  picked  up  once  with 
an  air  of  some  confusion,  is  laid  presently  softly  in  lap ;  head 
falls  on  comfortable  arm-chair  cushion ;  eyes  close  ;  soft  nasal 
music  is  heard.  Am  I  telling  Club  secrets  ?  Of  afternoons, 
after  lunch,  I  say,  scores  of  sensible  fogies*  have  a  doze.  Per- 155 
haps  I  have  fallen  asleep  over  that  very  book  to  which  "  Finis  " 
has  just  been  written.  And  if  the  writer  sleeps,  what  happens 
to  the  readers  ?  says  Jones,  coming  down  upon  me  with  his 
lightning  wit.  What !  you  did  sleep  over  it  ?  And  a  very  good 
thing  too.  These  eyes  have  more  than  once  seen  a  friend  doz- 160 
ing  over  pages  which  this  hand  has  written.  There  is  a  vignette* 
somewhere  in  one  of  my  books  of  a  friend  so  caught  napping 
with  Pendennis,  or  the  Newcomes,  in  his  lap ;  and  if  a  writer  can 
give  you  a  sweet,  soothing,  harmless  sleep,  has  he  not  done  you 
a  kindness  ?  So  is  the  author  who  excites  and  interests  you  165 
worthy  of  your  thanks  and  benedictions.  I  am  troubled  with 
fever  and  ague,  that  seizes  me  at  odd  intervals  and  prostrates 
me  for  a  day.  There  is  cold  fit,  for  which,  I  am  thankful  to 
say,  hot  brandy-and-water  is  prescribed,  and  this  induces  hot  fit, 
and  so  on.  In  one  or  two  of  these  fits  I  have  read  novels  with  170 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 147.  "posted  up."  From  what  is  this  figurative  ex- 
pression derived  ? 

151-154.  Pleasing  book  . . .  heard.  Note  the  omission  of  the  article.  What 
is  the  effect  ? 

154-165.  Am  I ...  kindness  I  The  pupil  should  observe  the  admirable  con- 
struction of  these  crisp  sentences. 


DE  FIN  I  BUS.  539 

the  most  fearful  contentment  of  mind.  Once,  on  the  Mississip- 
pi, it  was  my  dearly  beloved  Jacob  Faithful ;  once,  at  Frankfort 
O.  M.,  the  delightful  Vingt  Ans  Apres  of  Monsieur  Dumas  ; 
once,  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  the  thrilling  Woman  in  White;  and 
these  books  gave  me  amusement  from  morning  till  sunset.  1 175 
remember  those  ague-fits  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  and  grat- 
itude. Think  of  a  whole  day  in  bed,  and  a  good  novel  for  a 
companion  !  No  cares,  no  remorse  about  idleness,  no  visitors, 
and  the  Woman  in  White  or  the  Chevalier  d'Artagnan  to  tell 
me  stories  from  dawn  to  night !  "  Please,  ma'am,  my  master's  180 
compliments,  and  can  he  have  the  third  volume  ?"  (This  mes- 
sage was  sent  to  an  astonished  friend  and  neighbor  who  lent  me, 
volume  by  volume,  the  W.  in  W^)  How  do  you  like  your  nov- 
els ?  I  like  mine  strong,  "hot  with,"  and  no  mistake ;  no  love- 
making,  no  observations  about  society,  little  dialogue,  except  185 
where  the  characters  are  bullying*  each  other,  plenty  of  fighting, 
and  a  villain  in  the  cupboard  who  is  to  suffer  tortures  just  be- 
fore Finis.  I  don't  like  your  melancholy  Finis.  I  never  read 
the  history  of  a  consumptive  heroine  twice.  If  I  might  give  a 
short  hint  to  an  impartial  writer  (as  the  Examiner  used  to  say  190 
in  old  days),  it  would  be  to  act,  not  a  la  mode  le  pays  de  Pole 
(I  think  that  was  the  phraseology),  but  always  to  give  quar- 
ter. In  the  story  of  Philip,  just  come  to  an  end,  I  have  the 
permission  of  the  author  to  state  that  he  was  going  to  drown 
the  two  villains  of  the  piece  —  a  certain  Doctor  F—  -  and  a  195 

certain   Mr.  T.  H on  board  the  President,  or  some  other 

tragic  ship  —  but  you  see  I  relented.  I  pictured  to  myself 
Firmin's  ghastly  face  amidst  the  crowd  of  shuddering  people 
on  that  reeling  deck  in  the  lonely  ocean,  and  thought,  "  Thou 
ghastly,  lying  wietch,  thou  shalt  not  be  drowned;  thou  shalt2oo 
have  a  fever  only ;  a  knowledge  of  thy  danger ;  and  a  chance 
— ever  so  small  a  chance — of  repentance."  I  wonder  whether 
he  did  repent  when  he  found  himself  in  the  yellow  fever  in 
Virginia  ?  The  probability  is,  he  fancied  that  his  son  had  in< 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 171.  fearful  contentment.  Remark  on  this  expres- 
sion. 

185.  no  obserratlons,  etc.  The  point  of  this  banter  is;  that  Thackeray  is 
specially  noted  for  the  very  qualities  he  represents  himself  as  disliking. 


540  THACKERAY. 

jured  him  very  much,  and  forgave  him  on  his  death-bed.     Do  905 
you  imagine  there  is  a  great  deal  of  genuine  right-down  re- 
morse in  the  world  ?     Don't  people  rather  find  excuses  which 
make  their  minds  easy — endeavor  to  prove  to  themselves  that 
they  have  been  lamentably  belied  and  misunderstood — and  try 
and  forgive  the  persecutors  who  will  present  that  bill  when  itaic 
is  due,  and  not  bear  malice  against  the  cruel  ruffian*  who  takes 
them  to  the  police-office  for  stealing  the  spoons  ?     Years  ago  I 
had  a  quarrel  with  a  certain  well-known  person  (I  believed  a 
statement  regarding  him  which  his  friends  imparted  to  me,  and 
which  turned  out  to  be  quite  incorrect).     To  his  dying  day,  that  **s 
quarrel  was  never  quite  made  up.     I  said  to  his  brother,  "  Why 
is  your  brother's  soul  still  dark  against  me  ?     It  is  I  who  ought 
to  be  angry  and  unforgiving,  for  I  was  in  the  wrong."     In  the 
region  which  they  now  inhabit  (for  Finis  has  been  set  to  the 
volumes  of  the  lives  of  both  here  below),  if  they  take  any  cogni-  220 
zance  of  our  squabbles  and  tittle-tattles  and  gossips  on  earth 
here,  I  hope  they  admit  that  my  little  error  was  not  of  a  nature 
unpardonable.     If  you  have  never  committed  a  worse,  my  good 
sir,  surely  the  score  against  you  will  not  be  heavy.    Ha,  dilectissi- 
mi  fratres !    It  is  in  regard  of  sins  not  found  out  that  we  may  225 
say  or  sing  (in  an  undertone,  in  a  most  penitent  and  lugubrious 
minor  key),  Miserere  nobis  miseris  peccatoribus. 

6.  Among  the  sins  of  commission  which  novel-writers  not  sel- 
dom perpetrate  is  the  sin  of  grandiloquence,*  or  tall -talking, 
against  which,  for  my  part,  I  will  offer  up  a  special  libera  me.  23c 
This  is  the  sin  of  schoolmasters,  governesses,  critics,  sermoners, 
and  instructors  of  young  or  old  people.  Nay  (for  I  am  making 
a  clean  breast,  and  liberating  my  soul),  perhaps  of  all  the  novel- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. —207-212.  Don't  people  ...  spoons !  A  touch  of 
Thackeray's  well-known  cynical  view  of  human  nature.  Remark  on  the 
terms  "  persecutors  "  and  "  cruel  ruffian  "  as  here  employed. 

217,  218.  It  is  I ...  wrong.  What  is  the  process  of  cynical  reasoning  here 
,mplied  ? 

224,  225.  dilectlgsimi  fratres !  beloved  brothers. 

227.  Miserere,  etc.     Have  mercy  on  us  miserable  sinners. 

229.  grandiloquence,  or  tall-talking.     This  is  a  happy  example  of  defining  a 
lofty  by  a  common  term. 

230.  libera  me,  deliver  me. 


DE  FINIBUS. 


541 


spinners  now  extant,  the  present  speaker  is  the  most  addicted 
to  preaching.      Does  he  not  stop  perpetually  in  his  story  and  235 
begin  to  preach  to  you  ?     When  he  ought  to  be  engaged  with 
business,  is  he  not  forever  taking  the  Muse  by  the  sleeve  and 
plaguing  her  with  some  of  his  cynical  sermons  ?     I  cry  peccavi 
loudly  and  heartily.     I  tell  you  I  would  like  to  be  able  to  write 
a  story  which  should  show  no  egotism  whatever — in  which  there  240 
should  be  no  reflections,  no  cynicism,  no  vulgarity  (and  so  forth),     • 
but  an  incident  in  every  other  page,  a  villain,  a  battle,  a  mystery 
in  every  chapter.     I  should  like  to  be  able  to  feed  a  reader  so 
spicily  as  to  leave  him  hungering  and  thirsting  for  more  at  the 
end  of  every  monthly  meal.  245 

7.  Alexandre  Dumas  describes  himself,  when  inventing  the 
plan  of  a  work,  as  lying  silent  on  his  back  for  two  whole  days 
on  the  deck  of  a  yacht  in  a  Mediterranean  port.  At  the  end  of 
the  two  days  he  arose  and  called  for  dinner.  In  those  two  days 
he  had  built  his  plot.  He  had  moulded  a  mighty  clay,  to  be  cast  250 
presently  in  perennial*  brass.  The  chapters,  the  characters,  the 
incidents,  the  combinations,  were  all  arranged  in  the  artist's  brain 
ere  he  set  a  pen  to  paper.  My  Pegasus*  won't  fly,  so  as  to  let 
me  survey  the  field  below  me.  He  has  no  wings ;  he  is  blind  of 
one  eye  certainly ;  he  is  restive,  stubborn,  slow ;  crops  a  hedge  255 
when  he  ought  to  be  galloping,  or  gallops  when  he  ought  to  be 
quiet.  He  never  will  show  off  when  I  want  him.  Sometimes  he 
goes  at  a  pace  which  surprises  me.  Sometimes,  when  I  most 
wish  him  to  make  the  running,  the  brute  turns  restive,  and  I  am 
obliged  to  let  him  take  his  own  time.  I  wonder  do  other  novel- 260 
writers  experience  this  fatalism  ?  They  must  go  a  certain  way, 
in  spite  of  themselves.  I  have  been  surprised  at  the  observa- 
tions made  by  some  of  my  characters.  It  seems  as  if  an  occult 
Power  was  moving  the  pen.  The  personage  does  or  says  some- 
thing, and  I  ask,  How  the  dickens*  did  he  come  to  think  of  that  ?  ^ 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 237.  business.     Explain  the  term  as  here  used 

237.  taking  .  . .  sleeve.     What  is  meant  by  this  expression  ? 

238.  peccari,  I  have  sinned. 

239.  would  like.     Compare  with  "should  like"  in  line  243  :  which  is  cor- 
rect? 

250.  built  his  plot.     On  what  is  the  figure  founded? 
253.  Pegasus.     Explain. 


542  THACKERAY. 

Every  man  has  remarked  in  dreams  the  vast  dramatic  power 
which  is  sometimes  evinced — I  won't  say  the  surprising  power 
— for  nothing  does  surprise  you  in  dreams.  But  those  strange 
characters  you  meet  make  instant  observations  of  which  you 
never  can  have  thought  previously.  In  like  manner,  the  imag-  270 
ination  foretells  things.  We  spake  anon*  of  the  inflated  style  of 
some  writers.  What,  also,  if  there  is  an  afflated  style,  when  a 
writer  is  like  a  Pythoness  on  her  oracle  tripod,*  and  mighty 
words — words  which  he  cannot  help — come  blowing  and  bel- 
lowing and  whistling  and  moaning  through  the  speak  ing-pipes  275 
of  his  bodily  organ  ?  I  have  told  you  it  was  a  very  gueer  shock 
to  me  the  other  day  when,  with  a  letter  of  introduction  in  his 
hand,  the  artist's  (not  my)  Philip  Firmin  walked  into  this  room 
and  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite.  In  the  novel  of  Pendennis, 
written  ten  years  ago,  there  is  an  account  of  a  certain  Costigan,  280 
whom  I  had  invented  (as  I  suppose  authors  invent  their  person- 
ages out  of  scraps,  heel-taps,  odds  and  ends  of  characters).  I 
was  smoking  in  a  tavern  parlor  one  night,  and  this  Costigan 
came  into  .the  room  alive — the  very  man — the  most  remarkable 
resemblance  of  the  printed  sketches  of  the  man,  of  the  rude  285 
drawings  in  which  I  had  depicted  him.  He  had  the  same  lit- 
tle coat,  the  same  battered  hat  cocked  on  one  eye,  the  same 
twinkle  in  that  eye.  *'  Sir,"  said  I,  knowing  him  to  be  an  old 
friend  whom  I  had  met  in  unknown  regions — "sir,"  I  said, "may 
I  offer  you  a  glass  of  brandy-and-water  ?" — "  Bedad  ye  may"*^ 
says  he,  "  and  I'll  sing  you  a  song  tu."  Of  course  he  spoke 
with  an  Irish  brogue.  Of  course  he  had  been  in  the  army.  In 
ten  minutes  he  pulled  out  an  army  agent's  account,  whereon 
his  name  was  written.  A  few  months  after  we  read  of  him  in 
a  police  court.  How  had  I  come  to  know  him,  to  divine  him? 295 
Nothing  shall  convince  me  that  I  have  not  seen  that  man  in  the 
world  of  spirits.  In  the  world  of  spirits-and-water  I  know  I  did; 
but  that  is  a  mere  quibble  of  words.  I  was  not  surprised  when 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 271.  spake.    Remark  on  the  form. 

272.  afflated.  This  is  a  word  of  Thackeray's  own  coinage.  It  is  derived 
from  Lat.  afflatus,  inspiration. 

272-276.  What . .  .  organ  I  The  sentence  suggests  by  its  very  structure  the 
thought  which  the  author  is  expressing. 


DE  FINIBUS. 


543 


he  spoke  in  an  Irish  brogue.     I  had  had  cognizance  of  him  be- 
fore, somehow.     Who  has  not  felt  that  little  shock  which  arises  300 
when  a  person,  a  place,  some  words  in  a  book  (there  is  always*  a 
collocation)  present  themselves  to  you,  and  you  know  that  you 
have  before  met  the  same  person,  words,  scene,  and  so  forth  ? 

8.  They  used  to  call  the  good  Sir  Walter  the  "  Wizard  of  the 
North."     What  if  some  writer  should  appear  who  can  write  so  305 
enchantingly  that  he  shall  be   able  to  call  into  actual  life  the 
people  whom  he  invents  ?     What  if  Mignon  and  Margaret  and 
Goetz  von  Berlichingen  are  alive  now  (though  I  don't  say  they 
are  visible),  and  Dugald  Dalgetty  and  Ivanhoe  were  to  step  in 

at  that  open  window  by  the  little  garden  yonder  ?     Suppose  Un-  310 
cas  and  our  noble  old  Leatherstocking  were  to  glide,  silent,  in  ? 
Suppose  Athos,  Porthos,  and  Aramis  should  enter  with  a  noise- 
less swagger,  curling  their  mustaches  ?     And   dearest   Amelia, 
Booth,  on  Uncle  Toby's  arm,  Tittlebat  Titmouse,  with  his  hair 
dyed  green,  and  all  the  Crummies  company  of  comedians,  with  315 
the  Gil  Bias  troop,  and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  the  greatest 
of  all    crazy  gentlemen,  the   Knight  of  La   Mancha,  with  his 
blessed  squire  ?     I  say  to  you,  I  look  rather  wistfully  towards 
the  window,  musing  upon  these  people.     Were  any  of  them  to 
enter,  I  think  I  should  not  be  very  much  frightened.     Dear  old  320 
friends,  what  pleasant  hours  I  have  had  with  them  !     We  do  not 
see  each  other  very  often,  but  when  we  do  we  are  ever  happy  to 
meet.     I  had  a  capital  half  hour  with  Jacob  Faithful  last  night 
— when  the  last  sheet  was  corrected,  when  "  Finis  "  had  been 
written,  and  the  printer's  boy,  with  the  copy,  was  safe  in  Green  325 
Arbor  Court. 

9.  So  you  are  gone,  little  printer's  boy,  with  the  last  scratches 
and  corrections  on  the  proof,  and  a  fine  flourish  by  way  of  Finis 
at  the  story's  end.     The  last  corrections  ?     I  say  those  last  cor- 
rections seem  never  to  be  finished.     A  plague  upon  the  weeds  !  330 
Every  day,  when  I  walk  in  my  own  little  literary  garden-plot,  I 
spy  some,  and  should  like  to  have  a  spud*  and  root  them  out. 
Those  idle  words,  neighbor,  are  past  remedy.     That   turning 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 304-326.  The  pupil  should  name  the  books  in  which 
the  several  characters  mentioned  in  this  paragraph  occur. 


544  THACKERAY. 

back  to  the  old  pages  produces  anything  but  elation  of  mind. 
Would  you  not  pay  a  pretty  fine  to  be  able  to  cancel  some  of  335 
them  ?     Oh,  the  sad  old  pages,  the  dull  old  pages  !     Oh,  the 
cares,  the  ennui,  the  squabbles,  the  repetitions,  the  old  conver- 
sations  over   and   over   again        But   now   and    again   a  kind 
thought  is  recalled,  and  now  and  again  a  dear  memory.     Yet 
a  few  chapters  more,  and  then  the  last :   after  which,  behold  340 
Finis  itself  come  to  an  end,  and  the  Infinite  begun. 


XXXVII. 

CHARLES    DICKENS. 

1812-1; 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  E.  P.  WHIPPLE. 

i.  Dickens,  as  a  novelist  and  prose  poet,  is  to  be  classed  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  noble  company  to  which  he  belongs.  He  has 
revived  the  novel  of  genuine  practical  life,  as  it  existed  in  the 

35 


546  DICKENS. 

works  of  Fielding,  Smollett,  and  Goldsmith ;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  has  given  to  his  materials  an  individual  coloring  and  ex- 
pression peculiarly  his  own.  His  characters,  like  those  of  his 
great  examplars,  constitute  a  world  of  their  own,  whose  truth  to 
nature  every  reader  instinctively  recognizes  in  connection  with 
their  truth  to  Dickens.  Fielding  delineates  with  more  exquisite 
art,  standing  more  as  the  spectator  of  his  personages,  and  com- 
menting on  their  actions  with  an  ironical  humor  and  a  seeming 
innocence  of  insight  which  pierces  not  only  into,  but  through, 
their  very  nature,  laying  bare  their  inmost  unconscious  springs 
of  action,  and  in  every  instance  indicating  that  he  understands 
them  better  than  they  understand  themselves*  It  is  this  per- 
fection of  knowledge  and  insight  which  gives  to  his  novels  their 
naturalness,  their  freedom  of  movement,  and  their  value  as  les- 
sons in  human  nature  as  well  as  consummate  representations  of 
actual  life.  Dickens's  eye  for  forms  of  things  is  as  accurate  as 
Fielding's,  and  his  range  of  vision  more  extended ;  but  he  does 
not  probe  so  profoundly  into  the  heart  of  what  he  sees,  and  he 
is  more  led  away  from  the  simplicity  of  truth  by  a  tricksy  spirit 
of  fantastic  exaggeration.  Mentally,  he  is  indisputably  below 
Fielding ;  but  in  tenderness,  in  pathos,  in  sweetness  and  purity 
of  feeling,  in  that  comprehensiveness  of  sympathy  which  springs 
from  a  sense  of  brotherhood  with  mankind,  he  is  indisputably 
above  him.  .  .  . 

2.  In  representing  life  and  character,  there  are  two  character- 
istics of  his  genius  which  startle  every  reader  by  their  obvious- 
ness and  power — his  humor  and  pathos ;  but  in  respect  to  the 
operation  of  those  qualities  in  his  delineations,  critics  have  some- 
times objected  that  his  humor  is  apt  to  run  into  fantastic  exag- 
geration, and  his  pathos  into  sentimental  excess.  Indeed,  in  re- 
gard to  his  humorous  characters,  it  may  be  said  that  the  vivid 
intensity  with  which  he  conceives  them,  and  the  overflowing 
abundance  of  joy  and  merriment  which  spring  instinctively  up 
from  the  very  foundations  of  his  being  at  the  slightest  point  of 
the  ludicrous,  sometimes  lead  him  to  the  very  verge  of  caricature. 
He  seems  himself  to  be  taken  by  surprise  as  his  glad  and  genial 
fancies  throng  into  his  brain,  and  to  laugh  and  exult  with  the 
beings  he  has  called  into  existence  in  the  spirit  of  a  man  observ- 
ing, not  creating.  Squeers  and  Pecksniff,  Simon  Tappertit  and 


WHIPPLE'S  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  DICKENS.      547 

Mark  Tapley,  Tony  Weller  and  old  John  Willet,  although  painted 
with  such  distinctness  that  we  seem  to  see  them  with  the  bodily 
eye,  we  still  feel  to  be  somewhat  overcharged  in  the  description. 
They  are  caricatured  more  in  appearance  than  reality,  and  if 
grotesque  in  form,  are  true  and  natural  at  heart.  Such  carica- 
ture as  this  is  to  character  what  epigram  is  to  fact — a  mode  of 
conveying  truth  more  distinctly  by  suggesting  it  through  a  brill- 
iant exaggeration. 

3.  Much  of  the  humor  of  Dickens  is  identical  with  his  style. 
In  this  the  affluence  of  his  fancy  in  suggestive  phrases  and  epi- 
thets is  finely  displayed  ;  and  he  often  flashes  the  impression  of 
a  character  or  a  scene  upon  the  mind  by  a  few  graphic  verbal 
combinations.     When   Ralph  Nickleby  says  "God  bless  you" 
to  his  nephew,  the  words  stick  in  his  throat,  as  if  unused  to  the 
passage.     When  Tigg  clasped  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  the  dark,  that 
worthy  gentleman  "found  himself  collared  by  something  which 
smelt  like  several  damp  umbrellas,  a  barrel  of  beer,  a  cask  of 
warm  brandy-and-water,  and  a  small  parlorful  of  tobacco-smoke, 
mixed."     Mrs.  Todgers,  when  she  desires  to  make  Ruth  Pinch 
know  her  station,  surveys  her  with  a  look  of  "  genteel  grimness." 
A  widow  of  a  deceased  brother  of  Martin  Chuzzlewit  is  described 
as  one  who,  "  being  almost  supernaturally  disagreeable,  and  hav- 
ing a  dreary  face,  a  bony  figure,  and  a  masculine  voice,  was,  in 
right  of  these  qualities,  called  a  strong-minded  woman."     Mr. 
Richard  Swiveller  no  sooner  enters  a  room  than  the  nostrils  of 
the  company  are  saluted  by  a  strong  smell  of  gin  and  lemon- 
peel.     Mr.  Jonas  Chuzzlewit,  a  person  who  overfed  himself,  is 
sketched  as  a  gentleman  with  such  an  obvious  disposition  to 
pimples  that  "  the  bright  spots  on  his  cravat,  the  rich  pattern 
of  his  waistcoat,  and  even  his  glittering  trinkets  seemed  to  have 
broken  out  upon  him,  and  not  to  have  come  into  existence  com- 
fortably."    Felicities  like  these  Dickens  squanders  with  a  prodi- 
gality which  reduces  their  relative  value,  and  makes  the  general- 
ity of  style-mongers  poor  indeed. 

4.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  Dickens  is  more  successful  in 
humor  or  pathos.     Many  prefer  his  serious  to  his  comic  scenes. 
It  is  certain  that  his  genius  can  as  readily  draw  tears  as  provoke 
laughter.     Sorrow,  want,  poverty,  pain,  and  death,  the  affections 
which  cling  to  earth  and  those  which  rise  above  it,  he  represents 


548  DICKENS. 

always  with  power,  and  often  with  marvellous  skill.  His  style, 
in  the  serious  moods  of  his  mind,  has  a  harmony  of  flow  which 
often  glides  unconsciously  into  metrical  arrangement,  and  is  full 
of  those  words 

"  Which  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea, 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly." 

One  source  of  his  pathos  is  the  intense  and  purified  concep- 
tion he  has  of  moral  beauty — of  that  beauty  which  comes  from  a 
thoughtful  brooding  over  the  most  solemn  and  affecting  realities 
of  life.  The  character  of  little  Nell  is  an  illustration.  The  sim- 
plicity of  this  creation,  framed,  as  it  is,  from  the  finest  elements 
of  human  nature,  and  the  unambitious  mode  of  its  development 
through  the  motley  scenes  of  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  are  calcu 
lated  to  make  us  overlook  its  rare  merit  as  a  work  of  high  po- 
etic genius.  Amidst  the  wolfish  malignity  of  Quilp,  the  sugared 
meanness  of  Brass,  the  roaring  conviviality  of  Swiveller,  amidst 
scenes  of  selfishness  and  shame,  of  passion  and  crime,  this  deli- 
cate creation  moves  along,  unsullied,  purified,  pursuing  the  good 
in  the  simple  earnestness  of  a  pure  heart,  gliding  to  the  tomb  as 
to  a  sweet  sleep,  and  leaving  in  every  place  that  her  presence 
beautifies  the  marks  of  celestial  footprints.  Sorrows  such  as 
hers,  over  which  so  fine  a  sentiment  sheds  its  consecrations, 
have  been  well  said  to  be  ill  bartered  for  the  garishness  of  joy ; 
"for  they  win  us  softly  from  life,  and  fit  us  to  die  smiling." 

5.  In  addition  to  this  refined  perception  of  moral  beauty,  he 
has  great  tragic  power.  It  would  be  useless,  in  our  limits,  to  at- 
tempt giving  illustrations  of  his  closeness  to  nature  in  deline- 
ating the  deeper  passions ;  his  profound  observation  of  the  work- 
ings of  the  soul  when  stained  with  crime  and  looking  forward  to 
death ;  his  skill  in  gifting  remorse,  fear,  avarice,  hatred,  and  re- 
venge with  their  appropriate  language ;  and  his  subtle  apprecia- 
tion of  the  influence  exercised  by  different  moods  of  the  mind  in 
modifying  the  appearances  of  external  objects.  In  these  the 
poet  always  appears  through  the  novelist,  and  we  hardly  know 
whether  imagination  or  observation  contributes  most  to  the  ef- 
fect. 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  549 

A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 
STAVE  ONE.— MARLEY'S  GHOST. 

Marley  was  dead,  to  begin  with.  There  is  no  doubt  whatever 
about  that.  The  register  of  his  burial  was  signed  by  the  clergy- 
man, the  clerk,  the  undertaker,  and  the  chief  mourner.  Scrooge 
signed  it.  And  Scrooge's  name  was  good  upon  'Change  for  any- 
thing he  chose  to  put  his  hand  to.  * 

Old  Marley  was  as  dead  as  a  door-nail. 

Scrooge  knew  he  was  dead  ?     Of  course  he  did.     How  could 
it  be  otherwise  ?     Scrooge  and  he  were  partners  for  I  don't  know 
how  many  years.     Scrooge  was  his  sole  executor,  his  sole  ad- 
ministrator, his  sole  assign,  his  sole  residuary  legatee,  his  sole  10 
friend,  his  sole  mourner. 

Scrooge  never  painted  out  old  Marley's  name,  however.  There 
it  yet  stood,  years  afterwards,  above  the  warehouse  door  — 
Scrooge  and  Marley.  The  firm  was  known  as  Scrooge  and  Mar- 
ley.  Sometimes  people  new  to  the  business  called  Scrooge  15 
Scrooge,  and  sometimes  Marley.  He  answered  to  both  names. 
It  was  all  the  same  to  him. 

Oh,  but  he  was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstone,  was 
Scrooge !  a  squeezing,  wrenching,  grasping,  scraping,  clutching, 
covetous  old  sinner !     External  heat  and  cold  had  little  influence  20 
on  him.     No  warmth  could  warm,  no  cold  could  chill  him.     No 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-6.  Marley  . .  .  door-nail.  What  one  statement  is 
made  in  these  two  paragraphs  ?  What  is  the  statement  as  expressed  in  the 
second  paragraph  ?  Show  how  this  is  led  up  to,  and  what  means  are  em- 
ployed to  emphasize  the  statement. 

9,  10.  executor.  .  .  legatee.  Explain  the  terms  "executor,"  "administrator," 
"assign,"  "legatee."  What  is  the  effect  of  the  repetition  of  the  word 
"  sole  ?" 

15,  16.  called  Scrooge  Scrooge.  What  is  the  grammatical  construction  of  the 
word  "  Scrooge  "  in  these  two  uses  ?  (See  Swinton's  New  English  Grammar, 
p.  169,  Special  Rule  iii.) 

18-20.  Oh  ...  sinner!  What  is  peculiar  in  the  construction  of  this  sen- 
tence ?  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? — Grammatical  construction  of  "  sin- 
ner?" What  is  the  figure  in  "sinner?"  (See  Def.  29.)  What  epithets  are 
applied  to  "  Scrooge  ?"  What  is  the  effect  of  their  accumulation  ? 

21-27.  No  wind  .  .  .  did.  Point  out  the  similes  ;  the  personifications.  Show 
the  play  of  words  in  the  last  part  of  the  paragraph. 


550  DICKENS. 

wind  that  blew  was  bitterer  than  he,  no  falling  snow  was  more 
intent  upon  its  purpose,  no  pelting  rain  less  open  to  entreaty. 
Foul  weather  didn't  know  where  to  have  him.  The  heaviest 
rain  and  snow  and  hail  and  sleet  could  boast  of  the  advantage  25 
over  him  in  only  one  respect — they  often  "came  down"  hand- 
somely, and  Scrooge  never  did. 

Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  say,  with  gladsome 
looks,  "  My  dear  Scrooge,  how  are  you  ?     When  will  you  come 
to  see  me  ?"     No  beggars  implored  him  to  bestow  a  trifle ;  no  30 
children  asked  him  what  it  was  o'clock ;  no  man  or  woman  ever 
once,  in  all  his  life,  inquired  the  way  to  such  and  such  a  place,  of 
Scrooge.     Even  the  blindmen's  dogs  appeared  to  know  him; 
and,  when  they  saw  him  coming  on,  would  tug  their  owners  into 
doorways  and  up  courts ;  and  then  would  wag  their  tails   as  35 
though  they  said,  "  No  eye  at  all  is  better  than  an  evil  eye,  dark 
master !" 

But  what  did  Scrooge  care !     It  was  the  very  thing  he  liked. 
To  edge  his  way  along  the  crowded  paths  of  life,  warning  all  hu- 
man sympathy  to  keep  its  distance,  was  what  the  knowing  ones  4° 
call  "  nuts  "  to  Scrooge. 

Once  upon  a  time — of  all  the  good  days  in  the  year,  upon  a 
Christmas-eve — old  Scrooge  sat  busy  in  his  counting-house.  It 
was  cold,  bleak,  biting,  foggy  weather ;  and  the  city  clocks  had 
only  just  gone  three,  but  it  was  quite  dark  already.  45 

The  door  of  Scrooge's  counting-house  was  open,  that  he  might 
keep  his  eye  upon  his  clerk,  who,  in  a  dismal  little  cell  beyond, 
a  sort  of  tank,  was  copying  letters.  Scrooge  had  a  very  small 
fire,  but  the  clerk's  fire  was  so  very  much  smaller  that  it  looked 
like  one  coal.  But  he  couldn't  replenish  it,  for  Scrooge  kept  the  s< 
coal-box  in  his  own  room ;  and  so  surely  as  the  clerk  came  in 
with  the  shovel,  the  master  predicted  that  it  would  be  necessary 
for  them  to  part.  Wherefore  the  clerk  put  on  his  white  comfort- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 28-37.  Nobody  .  . .  master!  Summarize  in  your  own 
words  the  forbidding  traits  of  Scrooge.  What  masterly  touch  most  distinctly 
reveals  his  nature  ? 

39,  40.  warning . . .  distance.     Explain. 

42,  43.  Once  . .  .  counting-house.     Analyze  this  sentence. 

46-55.  The  door . .  .  failed.  What  kind  of  clause  is  "  that  he  might,"  etc.  ? 
—Point  out  any  drolleries  in  this  paragraph. 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  551 

er,  and  tried  to  warm  himself  at  the  candle ;  in  which  effort,  not 
being  a  man  of  a  strong  imagination,  he  failed.  ss 

'*  A  merry  Christmas,*  uncle  !  God  save  you  !"  cried  a  cheer- 
ful voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Scrooge's  nephew,  who  came  upon 
him  so  quickly  that  this  was  the  first  intimation  Scrooge  had  of 
his  approach. 

"  Bah  !"  said  Scrooge  ;  "  humbug  !"  60 

"  Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle !  You  don't  mean  that,  I  am 
sure?" 

"  I  do.  Out  upon  merry  Christmas  !  What's  Christmas  time 
to  you  but  a  time  for  paying  bills  without  money;  a  time  for 
finding  yourself  a  year  older,  and  not  an  hour  richer ;  a  time  for  65 
balancing  your  books  and  having  every  item  in  'em  through  a 
round  dozen  of  months  presented  dead  against  you?  If  I  had 
my  will,  every  idiot  who  goes  about  with  *  Merry  Christmas'  on 
his  lips  should  be  boiled  with  his  own  pudding,  and  buried  with 
a  stake  of  holly  through  his  heart.  He  should  !"  7o 

"Uncle!" 

"  Nephew,  keep  Christmas  in  your  own  way,  and  let  me  keep 
it  in  mine." 

"  Keep  it !     But  you  don't  keep  it." 

"  Let  me  leave  it  alone,  then.     Much  good  may  it  do  you !  75 
Much  good  it  has  ever  done  you !" 

"  There  are  many  things  from  which  I  might  have  derived  good, 
by  which  I  have  not  profited,  I  dare  say,  Christmas  among  the 
rest.     But  I  am  sure  I  have  always  thought  of  Christmas  time, 
when  it  has  come  round — apart  from  the  veneration  due  to  its  80 
sacred  origin,  if  anything  belonging  to  it  can  be  apart  from  that 
— as  a  good  time  ;  a  kind,  forgiving,  charitable,  pleasant  time ; 
the  only  time  I  know  of,  in  the  long  calendar*  of  the  year,  when 
men  and  women  seem  by  one  consent  to  open  their  shut-up  hearts 
freely,  and  to  think  of  people  below  them  as  if  they  really  were  85 
fellow-travellers  to  the  grave,  and  not  another  race  of  creatures 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 56-59.  Derivation  of  "  Christmas  ?" — What  is  the 
figure  of  speech  in  the  word  "  voice  ?" 

75.  Much  good.     What  of  the  order  of  words  ? 

84.  to  open  their  shut-up  hearts.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

86.  fellow-travellers  to  the  grave.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 


S52  DICKENS. 

bound  on  other  journeys.  And  therefore,  uncle,  though  it  has 
never  put  a  scrap  of  gold  or  silver  in  my  pocket,  I  believe  that 
it  has  done  me  good,  and  will  do  me  good ;  and  I  say,  God 
bless  it !"  ^ 

The  clerk  in  the  tank  involuntarily  applauded. 

"  Let  me  hear  another  sound  from  you,"  said  Scrooge,  "  and 
you'll  keep  your  Christmas  by  losing  your  situation !  You're 
quite  a  powerful  speaker,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  nephew. 
"  I  wonder  you  don't  go  into  Parliament."  95 

"  Don't  be  angry,  uncle.     Come  !     Dine  with  us  to-morrow." 

Scrooge  said  that  he  would  see  him — yes,  indeed  he  did.  He 
went  the  whole  length  of  the  expression,  and  said  that  he  would 
see  him  in  that  extremity  first. 

"  But  why  ?"  cried  Scrooge's  nephew.     "  Why  ?"  100 

"  Why  did  you  get  married  ?" 

"  Because  I  fell  in  love." 

"  Because  you  fell  in  love !"  growled  Scrooge,  as  if  that  were 
the  only  one  thing  in  the  world  more  ridiculous  than  a  merry 
Christmas.  "  Good-afternoon  !"  I05 

"  Nay,  uncle,  but  you  never  came  to  see  me  before  that  hap- 
pened. Why  give  it  as  a  reason  for  not  coming  now  ?" 

"  Good-afternoon !" 

"  I  want  nothing  from  you ;  I  ask  nothing  of  you ;  why  cannot 
we  be  friends  ?"  no 

"  Good-afternoon !" 

"  I  am  sorry,  with  all  my  heart,  to  find  you  so  resolute.  We 
have  never  had  any  quarrel  to  which  I  have  been  a  party.  But 
I  have  made  the  trial  in  homage  to  Christmas,  and  I'll  keep  my 
Christmas  humor  to  the  last.  So  a  merry  Christmas,  uncle !"  us 

"  Good-afternoon !" 

"And  a  happy  New  Year  !" 

"  Good-afternoon !" 

His  nephew  left  the  room  without  an  angry  word,  nothwith- 
('standing.  The  clerk,  in  letting  Scrooge's  nephew  out,  had  let  120 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 92-95.  Let ...  Parliament.  Point  out  the  example 
of  oxymoron.  (See  Def.  18,  i.)  Point  out  the  example  of  irony. 

97.  see  him-yes,  indeed  he  did.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def. 
18.) 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  553 

two  other  people  in.  They  were  portly  gentlemen,  pleasant  to 
behold,  and  now  stood,  with  their  hats  off,  in  Scrooge's  office. 
They  had  books  and  papers  in  their  hands,  and  bowed  to  him. 

"  Scrooge  and  Marley's.  I  believe,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen, 
referring  to  his  list.     "  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Mr.  125 
Scrooge  or  Mr.  Marley  ?" 

"  Mr.  Marley  has  been  dead  these  seven  years.     He  died  seven 
years  ago,  this  very  night." 

"At  this  festive  season  of  the  year,  Mr.  Scrooge,"  said  the 
gentleman,  taking  up  a  pen,  "  it  is  more  than  usually  desirable  13° 
that  we  should  make  some  slight  provision  for  the  poor  and  des- 
titute, who  suffer  greatly  at  the  present  time.  Many  thousands 
are  in  want  of  common  necessaries ;  hundreds  of  thousands  are 
in  want  of  common  comforts,  sir." 

"Are  there  no  prisons  ?"  135 

"  Plenty  of  prisons.  But,  under  the  impression  that  they  scarce- 
ly furnish  Christian  cheer  of  mind  or  body  to  the  unoffending 
multitude,  a  few  of  us  are  endeavoring  to  raise  a  fund  to  buy  the 
poor  some  meat  and  drink  and  means  of  warmth.  We  choose 
this  time,  because  it  is  a  time,  of  all  others,  when  want  is  keenly  140 
felt,  and  Abundance  rejoices.  What  shall  I  put  you  down  for  ?" 

"  Nothing !" 

"  You  wish  to  be  anonymous  ?"* 

"  I  wish  to  be  left  alone.     Since  you  ask  me  what  I  wish,  gen- 
tlemen, that  is  my  answer.     I  don't  make  merry  myself  at  Christ- 145 
mas,  and  I  can't  afford  to  make  idle  people  merry.     I  help  to 
support  the  prisons  and  the  workhouses — they  cost  enough — and 
those  who  are  badly  off  must  go  there." 

"  Many  can't  go  there  ;  and  many  would  rather  die." 

"  If  they  would  rather  die,  they  had  better  do  it,  and  decrease  150 
the  surplus3*  population." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  121,  122.  They  were  . . .  office.  Analyze  this  sen- 
tence. 

127,128.  seven  years.  State  the  grammatical  construction  of  "years"  in 
both  its  uses. 

136.  Plenty  of  prisons.     Supply  the  ellipsis. 

141.  Abundance.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

143.  anonymous !     Derivation  ? 

146.  people  merry.     Grammatical  construction  ? 


554  DICKENS. 

At  length  the  hour  of  shutting  up  the  counting-house  arrived. 
With  an  ill-will,  Scrooge,  dismounting  from  his  stool,  tacitly  ad- 
mitted the  fact  to  the  expectant  clerk  in  the  tank,  who  instantly 
snuffed  his  candle  out  and  put  on  his  hat.  iss 

"  You'll  want  all  day  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  If  quite  convenient,  sir." 

"  It's  not  convenient,  and  it's  not  fair.  If  I  was  to  stop  half- 
a crown  for  it,  you'd  think  yourself  mightily  ill  used,  I'll  be 
bound  ?"  I6° 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  yet  you  don't  think  me  ill  used  when  I  pay  a  day's  wages 
for  no  work." 

"  It's  only  once  a  year,  sir." 

"  A  poor  excuse  for  picking  a  man's  pocket  every  twenty-fifth  165 
of  December!     But  I  suppose  you  must  have  the  whole  day. 
Be  here  all  the  earlier  next  morning." 

The  clerk  promised  that  he  would ;  and  Scrooge  walked  out 
with  a  growl.  The  office  was  closed  in  a  twinkling,  and  the 
clerk,  with  the  long  ends  of  his  white  comforter  dangling  below  170 
his  waist  (for  he  boasted  no  great-coat),  went  down  a  slide,  at 
the  end  of  a  lane  of  boys,  twenty  times,  in  honor  of  its  being 
Christmas-eve,  and  then  ran  home  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt,  to 
play  at  blindman's-buff. 

Scrooge  took  his  melancholy  dinner  in  his  usual  melancholy  175 
tavern;  and,  having  read  all  the  newspapers,  and  beguiled  the 
rest  of  the  evening  with  his  banker's  book,  went  home  to  bed. 
He  lived  in  chambers  which  had  once  belonged  to  his  deceased 
partner.     They  were  a  gloomy  suite  of  rooms,  in  a  lowering  pile 
of  building,  up  a  yard.     The  building  was  old  enough  now,  and  ,80 
dreary  enough ;  for  nobody  lived  in  it  but  Scrooge,  the  other 
rooms  being  all  let  out  as  offices. 

Now,  it  is  a  fact  that  there  was  nothing  particular  at  all  about 
the  knocker  on  the  door  of  this  house,  except  that  it  was  very 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 171.  boasted  no  great-coat.     Express  in  other  words. 

175-182.  Scrooge.  ..  offices.  Point  out  examples  of  transferred  epithet. 
(See  Def.  82.)  Point  out  an  example  of  irony. 

183-188.  Now ...  London.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically?  How 
might  this  sentence  be  changed  by  the  style  coupt?  (See  Def.  67, 11.) 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


555 


large;  also,  that  Scrooge  had  seen  it,  night  and  morning,  during '85 
his  whole  residence  in  that  place ;  also,  that  Scrooge  had  as  little 
of  what  is  called  fancy  about  him  as  any  man  in  the  city  of  Lon- 
don. And  yet  Scrooge,  having  his  key  in  the  lock  of  the  door, 
saw  in  the  knocker,  without  its  undergoing  any  intermediate 
process  of  change,  not  a  knocker,  but  Marley's  face.  190 

Marley's  face,  with  a  dismal  light  about  it,  like  a  bad  lobster 
in  a  dark  cellar.  It  was  not  angry  or  ferocious,  but  it  looked  at 
Scrooge  as  Marley  used  to  look — with  ghostly  spectacles  turned 
up  upon  its  ghostly  forehead. 

As  Scrooge  looked  fixedly  at  this  phenomenon,  it  was  a  knock-  *95 
er  again.     He  said,  "  Pooh,  pooh  !"  and  closed  the  door  with  a 
bang. 

The  sound  resounded  through  the  house  like  thunder.  Every 
room  above,  and  every  cask  in  the  wine-merchant's  cellars  below, 
appeared  to  have  a  separate  peal  of  echoes  of  its  own.  Scrooge  200 
was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by  echoes.  He  fastened  the  door, 
and  walked  across  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs.  Slowly  too,  trim- 
ming his  candle  as  he  went. 

Up  Scrooge  went,  not  caring  a  button  for  its  being  very  dark. 
Darkness  is  cheap,  and  Scrooge  liked  it.     But  before  he  shut  205 
his  heavy  door,  he  walked  through  his  rooms  to  see  that  all  was 
right.     He  had  just  enough  recollection  of  the  face  to  desire  to 
do  that. 

Sitting-room,  bedroom,  lumber-room,  all  as  they  should  be. 
Nobody  under  the  table,  nobody  under  the  sofa ;  a  small  fire  in  210 
the  grate ;  spoon  and  basin  ready ;  and  the  little  saucepan  of 
gruel  (Scrooge  had  a  cold  in  his  head)  upon  the  hob.  Nobody 
under  the  bed;  nobody  in  the  closet;  nobody  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  which  was  hanging  up  in  a  suspicious  attitude  against  the 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  188-190.  And  ...  face.  What  kind  of  sentence 
rhetorically  ? 

191,  192.  Marley's  .  .  .  cellar.  Observe  the  abrupt  construction.  Place  the 
sentence  in  its  grammatical  relation. — Explain  the  simile. 

198.  sound  resounded.     Remark  on  the  collocation  of  words. 

204.  caring  a  button.     Grammatical  construction  ? 

209-216.  Sitting-room . . .  poker.  What  device  is  employed  to  give  an  ab- 
rupt, staccato  effect  to  this  paragraph  ? 


5S6  DICKENS. 

wall.     Lumber-room  as  usual.     Old  fire-guard,  old  shoes,  two 215 
fish-baskets,  washing-stand  on  three  legs,  and  a  poker. 

Quite  satisfied,  he  closed  his  door,  and  locked  himself  in; 
double-locked  himself  in,  which  was  not  his  custom.     Thus  se- 
cured against  surprise,  he  took  off  his  cravat,  put  on  his  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers  and  his  nightcap,  and  sat  down  before  the  220 
very  low  fire  to  take  his  gruel. 

As  he  threw  his  head  back  in  the  chair,  his  glance  happened 
to  rest  upon  a  bell,  a  disused  bell,  that  hung  in  the  room,  and 
communicated,  for  some  purpose  now  forgotten,  with  a  chamber 
in  the  highest  story  of  the  building.  It  was  with  great  astonish-  225 
ment,  and  with  a  strange,  inexplicable  dread,  that,  as  he  looked, 
he  saw  this  bell  begin  to  swing.  Soon  it  rang  out  loudly,  and  so 
did  every  bell  in  the  house. 

This  was  succeeded  by  a  clanking  noise,  deep  down  below,  as 
if  some  person  were  dragging  a  heavy  chain  over  the  casks  in  230 
the  wine-merchant's  cellar. 

Then  he  heard  the  noise  much  louder  on  the  floors  below ; 
then  coming  up  the  stairs;  then  coming  straight  towards  his 
door. 

It  came  on  through  the  heavy  door,  and  a  spectre*  passed  into  235 
the  room  before  his  eyes.     And  upon  its  coming  in,  the  dying 
flame  leaped  up,  as  though  it  cried,  "  I  know  him !     Marley's 
ghost !" 

The  same  face,  the  very  same.     Marley  in  his  pigtail,  usual 
waistcoat,  tights,  and  boots.      His  body  was  transparent;   so 240 
that  Scrooge,  observing  him,  and  looking  through  his  waistcoat, 
could  see  the  two  buttons  on  his  coat  behind. 

Scrooge  had  often  heard  it  said  that  Marley  had  no  bowels, 
but  he  had  never  believed  it  until  now. 

No,  nor  did  he  believe  it  even  now.     Though  he  looked  the  245 
phantom  through  and  through,  and  saw  it  standing  before  him — 
though  he  felt  the  chilling  influence  of  its  death-cold  eyes,  and 
noticed  the  very  texture  of  the  folded  kerchief  bound  about  its 
head  and  chin — he  was  still  incredulous. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 239-242.  Supply  the  ellipses.     What  striking  fancy 
in  this  paragraph  ? 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  557 

"  How  now  !"  said  Scrooge,  caustic  and  cold  as  ever.    "  What  250 
do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"  Much  !" — Marley's  voice,  no  doubt  about  it. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Ask  me  who  I  was." 

"  Who  were  you,  then  ?"  ass 

"  In  life  I  was  your  partner,  Jacob  Marley." 

"  Can  you — can  you  sit  down  ?" 

"  I  can." 

"  Do  it,  then." 

Scrooge  asked  the  question,  because  he  didn't  know  whether  260 
a  ghost  so  transparent  might  find  himself  in  a  condition  to  take 
a  chair ;  and  felt  that,  in  the  event  of  its  being  impossible,  it  might 
involve  the  necessity  of  an  embarrassing  explanation.  But  the 
ghost  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace,  as  if  he  were 
quite  used  to  it.  265 

"  You  don't  believe  in  me." 

"I  don't." 

"  What  evidence  would  you  have  of  my  reality  beyond  that  of 
your  senses  ?" 

"  I  don't  know."  270 

"  W7hy  do  you  doubt  your  senses  ?" 

"  Because  a  little  thing  affects  them.     A  slight  disorder  of  the 
stomach  makes  them  cheats.     You  may  be  an  undigested  bit  of 
beef,  a  blot  of  mustard,  a  crumb  of  cheese,  a  fragment  of  an  un- 
derdone potato.    There's  more  of  gravy  than  of  grave  about  you,  275 
whatever  you  are  !" 

Scrooge  was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  cracking  jokes,  nor  did 
he  feel  in  his  heart  by  any  means  waggish  then.  The  truth  is 
that  he  tried  to  be  smart,  as  a  means  of  distracting  his  own  at- 
tention and  keeping  down  his  horror.  280 

But  how  much  greater  was  his  horror  when,  the  phantom  tak- 
ing off  the  bandage  round  its  head,  as  if  it  were  too  warm  to  wear 
in-doors,  its  lower  jaw  dropped  down  upon  its  breast ! 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  262,  263.  Substitute  synonyms  for  the  following 
italicized  words :  "in  the  event  of  its  being  impossible,  it  might  involve  the  ne- 
cessity of  an  embarrassing  explanation" 

275.  Point  out  the  pun,  and  say  what  you  think  of  it. 

282.  its  head.     What  is  the  effect  of  the  use  of  the  neuter  pronoun? 


55g  DICKENS. 

"  Mercy !   Dreadful  apparition,  why  do  you  trouble  me  ?   Why 
do  spirits  walk  the  earth,  and  why  do  they  come  to  me  ?"  285 

"  It  is  required  of  every  man  that  the  spirit  within  him  should 
walk  abroad  among  his  fellow-men,  and  travel  far  and  wide ;  and 
if  that  spirit  goes  not  forth  in  life,  it  is  condemned  to  do  so  after 
death.  I  cannot  tell  you  all  I  would.  A  very  little  more  is  per- 
mitted to  me.  I  cannot  rest,  I  cannot  stay,  I  cannot  linger  any-  29o 
where.  My  spirit  never  walked  beyond  our  counting-house — 
mark  me ! — in  life  my  spirit  never  roved  beyond  the  narrow  lim- 
its of  our  money-changing  hole ;  and  weary  journeys  lie  before 
me!" 

"  Seven  years  dead.    And  travelling  all  the  time  ?    You  travel  295 
fast  ?" 

"  On  the  wings  of  the  wind." 

"  You  might  have  got  over  a  great  quantity  of  ground  in  seven 
years." 

"  O  blind  man,  blind  man  !  not  to  know  that  ages  of  incessant  300 
labor  by  immortal  creatures  for  this  earth  must  pass  into  eter- 
nity before  the  good  of  which  it  is  susceptible  is  all  developed. 
Not  to  know  that  any  Christian  spirit  working  kindly  in  its  little 
sphere,  whatever  it  may  be,  will  find  its  mortal  *  life  too  short  for 
its  vast  means  of  usefulness.     Not  to  know  that  no  space  of  re-  3°s 
gret  can  make  amends  for  one  life's  opportunities  misused  !  Yet 
I  was  like  this  man  ;  I  once  was  like  this  man  !" 

"  But  you  were  always  a  good  man  of  business,  Jacob,"  falter- 
ed Scrooge,  who  now  began  to  apply  this  to  himself. 

"  Business !"  cried  the  Ghost,  wringing  its  hands  again.    "  Man-  310 
kind  was  my  business.     The  common  welfare  was  my  business; 
charity,  mercy,  forbearance,  benevolence,  were  all  my  business. 
The  dealings  of  my  trade  were  but  a  drop  of  water  in  the  com- 
prehensive ocean  of  my  business  !" 

Scrooge  was  very  much  dismayed  to  hear  the  spectre  going  on  315 
at  this  rate,  and  began  to  quake  exceedingly. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 284.  apparition.     What  synonymous  word  is  used  in 
the  previous  paragraph  ? 

290.  Point  out  the  synonyms.     Why  are  the  three  expressions  employed  ? 
300-306.  0  ...  misused !     What  kind  of  sentences  grammatically  ? 
313.  were  but  a  drop,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


559 


"  Hear  me  !     My  time  is  nearly  gone.'5 

"  I  will.  But  don't  be  hard  upon  me !  Don't  be  flowery, 
Jacob  !  Pray !" 

"  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you  that  you  have  yet  a  chance  320 
and  hope  of  escaping  my  fate.     A  chance  and  hope  of  my  pro- 
curing, Ebenezer." 

"  You  were  always  a  good  friend  to  me.     Thank'ee  !" 

"  You  will  be  haunted  by  Three  Spirits." 

"  Is  that  the  chance  and  hope  you  mentioned,  Jacob  ?     I — 1 325 
think  I'd  rather  not." 

"Without  their  visits,  you  cannot  hope  to  shun  the  path  I 
tread.  Expect  the  first  to-morrow  night,  when  the  bell  tolls  One. 
Expect  the  second  on  the  next  night  at  the  same  hour.  The 
third,  upon  the  next  night,  when  the  last  stroke  of  Twelve  has  33^ 
ceased  to  vibrate.  Look  to  see  me  no  more  ;  and  look  that,  for 
your  own  sake,  you  remember  what  has  passed  between  us !" 

It  walked  backward  from  him  ;  and,  at  every  step  it  took,  the 
window  raised  itself  a  little ;  so  that  when  the  apparition  reached 
it  it  was  wide  open.  335 

Scrooge  closed  the  window,  and  examined  the  door  by  which 
the  Ghost  had  entered.  It  was  double-locked,  as  he  had  locked 
it  with  his  own  hands,  and  the  bolts  were  undisturbed.  Scrooge 
tried  to  say  "  Humbug  !"  but  stopped  at  the  first  syllable.  And 
being,  from  the  emotion  he  had  undergone,  or  the  fatigues  of  the  34° 
day,  or  his  glimpse  of  the  invisible  world,  or  the  dull  conversa- 
tion of  the  Ghost,  or  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  much  in  need  of  re- 
pose, he  went  straight  to  bed,  without  undressing,  and  fell  asleep 
on  the  instant 

*  *  #  #  *  * 

[Stave  Two,  the  "  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past,"  in  which  the  experiences  of 
Scrooge's  youth  are  recalled,  is  omitted.] 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 318.  Don't  be  flowery.     Remark  on  the  adjective. 
321.  procuring.     What  part  of  speech? 

333-335.  It ...  open.     Reconstruct  so  as  to  avoid  ambiguity  in  the  use  of 
the  pronoun  "  it." 


5Co 


DICKENS. 


STAVE  THREE.— THE  GHOST  OF   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT. 

Scrooge  awoke  in  his  own  bedroom.     There  was  no  doubt  341 
about  that.    But  it  and  his  own  adjoining  sitting-room,  into  which 
he  shuffled  in  his  slippers,  attracted  by  a  great  light  there,  had 
undergone  a  surprising  transformation.     The  walls  and  ceiling 
were  so  hung  with  living  green  that  it  looked  a  perfect  grove. 
The  leaves  of  holly,  mistletoe,  and  ivy  reflected  back  the  light,  35^ 
as  if  so  many  little  mirrors  had  been  scattered  there  ;  and  such 
a  mighty  blaze  went  roaring  up  the  chimney  as  that  petrifaction* 
of  a  hearth  had  never  known  in  Scrooge's  time,  or  Marley's,  01 
for  many  and  many  a  winter  season  gone.     Heaped  upon  the 
floor,  to  form  a  kind  of  throne,  were  turkeys,  geese,  game,  brawn,  355 
great  joints  of  meat,  sucking  pigs,  long  wreaths  of  sausages, 
mince-pies,  plum-puddings,  barrels  of  oysters,  red-hot  chestnuts, 
cherry -cheeked  apples,  juicy  oranges,  luscious  pears,  immense 
twelfth-cakes,  and  great  bowls  of  punch.    In  easy  state  upon  this 
couch  there  sat  a  Giant  glorious  to  see  ;  who  bore  a  glowing  360 
torch,  in  shape  not  unlike  Plenty's  horn,  and  who  raised  it  high 
to  shed  its  light  on  Scrooge,  as  he  came  peeping  round  the  door. 

"  Come  in — come  in  !  and  know  me  better,  man  !  I  am  the 
Ghost  of  Christmas  Present.  Look  upon  me !  You  have  never 
seen  the  like  of  me  before  !"  365 

"  Never." 

"  Have  never  walked  forth  with  the  younger  members  of  my 
family  ;  meaning  (for  I  am  very  young)  my  elder  brothers  born 
in  these  later  years  ?"  pursued  the  Phantom. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not.    Have  you  had  370 
many  brothers,  Spirit?" 

"  More  than  eighteen  hundred." 

"  A  tremendous  family  to  provide  for !     Spirit,  conduct  me 
where  you  will.     I  went  forth  last  night  on  compulsion,  and  I 
learned  ^  lesson  which  is  working  now.     To-night,  if  you  have  375 
aught  to  teach  me,  let  me  profit  by  it." 

"  Touch  my  robe  !" 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 347.  attracted . . .  there.     To  what  word  is  this  an 
adjunct  ? 

350.  reflected  back.     Query  as  to  this  expression. 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  561 

Scrooge  did  as  he  was  told,  and  held  it  fast. 

The  room  and  its  contents  all  vanished  instantly,  and  they 
stood  in  the  city  streets  upon  a  snowy  Christmas  morning.  380 

Scrooge  and  the  Ghost  passed  on,  invisible,  straight  to 
Scrooge's  clerk's  ;  and  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  the  Spirit 
smiled,  and  stopped  to  bless  Bob  Cratchit's  dwelling  with  the 
sprinklings  of  his  torch.  Think  of  that !  Bob  had  but  fifteen 
"  bob "  a  week  himself ;  he  pocketed  on  Saturdays  but  fifteen  385 
copies  of  his  Christian-name ;  and  yet  the  Ghost  of  Christmas 
Present  blessed  his  four-roomed  house  ! 

Then  up  rose  Mrs.  Cratchit,  Cratchit's  wife,  dressed  out  but 
poorly  in  a  twice-turned  gown,  but  brave  in  ribbons,  which  are 
cheap  and  make  a  goodly  show  for  sixpence ;  and  she  laid  the  390 
cloth,  assisted  by  Belinda  Cratchit,  second  of  her  daughters,  also 
brave  in  ribbons ;  while  Master  Peter  Cratchit  plunged  a  fork 
into  the  saucepan  of  potatoes,  and,  getting  the  corners  of  his 
monstrous  shirt-collar  (Bob's  private  property,  conferred  upon 
his  son  and  heir  in  honor  of  the  day)  into  his  mouth,  rejoiced  to  395 
find  himself  so  gallantly  attired,  and  yearned  to  show  his  linen 
in  the  fashionable  parks.  And  now  two  smaller  Cratchits,  boy 
and  girl,  came  tearing  in,  screaming  that  outside  the  baker's  they 
had  smelt  the  goose,  and  known  it  for  their  own  ;  and,  basking 
in  luxurious  thoughts  of  sage  and  onion,  these  young  Cratchits  400 
danced  about  the  table,  and  exalted  Master  Peter  Cratchit  to  the 
skies,  while  he  (not  proud,  although  his  collars  nearly  choked 
him)  blew  the  fire,  until  the  slow  potatoes,  bubbling  up,  knocked 
loudly  at  the  saucepan-lid  to  be  let  out  and  peeled. 

"What  has  ever  got  your  precious  father  then  ?"  said  Mrs.  405 
Cratchit.    "  And  your  brother  Tiny  Tim  !    And  Martha  warn't  as 
late  last  Christmas-day  by  half  an  hour  !" 

"  Here's  Martha,  mother  !"  said  a  girl,  appearing  as  she  spoke. 

"  Here's  Martha,  mother !"    cried  the  two  young  Cratchits. 
"  Hurrah  !     There's  such  a  goose,  Martha  !"  4io 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart  alive,  my  dear,  how  late  you  are  !"  said 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 384,385.  fifteen  bob=fifteen  shillings. 

388.  Then  up,  etc.     Why  is  the  inverted  order  used  here  ? 

389.  brave.     Meaning  here  ? 

403,  404,  knocked,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

36 


s62  DICKENS. 

Mrs.  Cratchit,  kissing  her  a  dozen  times,  and  taking  off  her  shawl 
and  bonnet  for  her. 

"We'd  a  deal  of  work  to  finish  up  last  night,"  replied  the  girl, 
"  and  had  to  clear  away  this  morning,  mother !"  415 

"Well!  Never  mind  so  long  as  you  are  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Cratchit.  "  Sit  ye  down  before  the  fire,  my  dear,  and  have  a 
warm,  Lord  bless  ye  !" 

"  No,  no !  There's  father  coming,"  cried  the  two  young 
Cratchits,  who  were  everywhere  at  once.  "  Hide,  Martha,  hide !"  420 

So  Martha  hid  herself,  and  in  came  little  Bob,  the  father,  with 
at  least  three  feet  of  comforter,  exclusive  of  the  fringe,  hanging 
down  before  him ;  and  his  threadbare  clothes  darned  up  and 
brushed,  to  look  seasonable ;  and  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder. 
Alas  for  Tiny  Tim !  he  bore  a  little  crutch,  and  had  his  limbs  425 
supported  by  an  iron  frame. 

"Why,  where's  our  Martha?"  cried  Bob  Cratchit,  looking 
round. 

"  Not  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Cratchit. 

"  Not  coming !"  said  Bob,  with  a  sudden  declension  in  his  high  430 
spirits;   for  he  had  been  Tim's  blood-horse  all  the  way  from 
church,  and  had  come  home  rampant — "  not  coming  upon  Christ- 
mas-day !" 

Martha  didn't  like  to  see  him  disappointed,  if  it  were  only  in 
joke  ;  so  she  came  out  prematurely  from  behind  the  closet  door,  435 
and  ran  into  his  arms,  while  the  two  young  Cratchits  hustled 
Tiny  Tim,  and  bore  him  off  into  the  wash-house,  that  he  might 
hear  the  pudding  singing  in  the  copper. 

"  And  how  did  little  Tim  behave  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Cratchit,  when 
she  had  rallied  Bob  on  his  credulity,  and  Bob  had  hugged  his  440 
daughter  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  As  good  as  gold,"  said  Bob,  "  and  better.  Somehow  he  gets 
thoughtful,  sitting  by  himself  so  much,  and  thinks  the  strangest 
things  you  ever  heard.  He  told  me,  coming  home,  that  he  hoped 
the  people  saw  him  in  the  church,  because  he  was  a  cripple,  and  445 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 425,  426.  Would  the  statement  have  been  as  pa- 
thetic had  the  lameness  been  directly  asserted  ? 

Point  out  the  fitness  of  the  term  here. 


A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


563 


it  might  be  pleasant  to  them  to  remember,  upon  Christmas-day, 
who  made  lame  beggars  walk  and  blind  men  see." 

Bob's  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  told  them  this,  and  trem- 
bled more  when  he  said  that  Tiny  Tim  was  growing  strong  and 
hearty.  45° 

His  active  little  crutch  was  heard  upon  the  floor,  and  back 
came  Tiny  Tim  before  another  word  was  spoken,  escorted  by  his 
brother  and  sister  to  his  stool  beside  the  fire ;  and  while  Bob, 
turning  up  his  cuffs — as  if,  poor  fellow !  they  were  capable  of  be- 
ing made  more  shabby — compounded  some  hot  mixture  in  a  jug  455 
with  gin  and  lemons,  and  stirred  it  round  and  round,  and  put  it 
on  the  hob  to  simmer,  Master  Peter  and  the  two  ubiquitous* 
young  Cratchits  went  to  fetch  the  goose,  with  which  they  soon 
returned  in  high  procession. 

Mrs.  Cratchit  made  the  gravy  (ready  beforehand  in  a  little  460 
saucepan)  hissing  hot ;  Master  Peter  mashed  the  potatoes  with 
incredible  vigor ;  Miss  Belinda  sweetened  up  the  apple-sauce ; 
Martha  dusted  the  hot  plates ;  Bob  took  Tiny  Tim  beside  him 
in  a  tiny  corner  at  the  table  •  the  two  young  Cratchits  set  chairs 
for  everybody,  not  forgetting   themselves,  and  mounting  guard  465 
upon  their  posts,  crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths,  lest  they 
should  shriek  for  goose  before  their  turn  came  to  be  helped.    At 
last  the  dishes  were  set  on,  and  grace  was  said.    It  was  succeed- 
ed by  a  breathless  pause,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit,  looking  slowly  all 
along  the  carving-knife,  prepared  to  plunge  it  in  the  breast ;  but  47° 
when  she  did,  and  when  the  long-expected  gush  of  stuffing  issued 
forth,  one  murmur  of  delight  arose  all  round  the  board,  and  even 
Tiny  Tim,  excited  by  the  two  young  Cratchits,  beat  on  the  table 
with  the  handle  of  his  knife,  and  feebly  cried,  Hurrah ! 

There  never  was  such  a  goose.     Bob  said  he  didn't  believe  475 
there  ever  was  such  a  goose  cooked.     Its  tenderness  and  flavor, 
size  and  cheapness,  were  the  themes  of  universal  admiration. 
Eked  out  by  apple-sauce  and  mashed  potatoes,  it  was  a  sufficient 
dinner  for  the  whole  family ;  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit  said  with  .. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 448-450.  Why  did  the  father's  voice  tremble  when 
he  said  that  Tiny  Tim  "  was  growing  strong  ?" 

475.  There  never,  etc.  Observe  the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  transi- 
tion of  paragraphs  is  effected. 


DICKENS. 

great  delight  (surveying  one  small  atom  of  a  bone  upon  the  dish),  480 
they  hadn't  eat  it  all  at  last !  Yet  every  one  had  had  enough, 
and  the  youngest  Cratchits  in  particular  were  steeped  in  sage 
and  onion  to  the  eyebrows  !  But  now,  the  plates  being  changed 
by  Miss  Belinda,  Mrs.  Cratchit  left  the  room  alone — too  nervous 
to  bear  witnesses — to  take  the  pudding  up  and  bring  it  in.  485 

Suppose  it  should  not  be  done  enough !  Suppose  it  should 
break  in  turning  out !  Suppose  somebody  should  have  got  over 
the  wall  of  the  backyard  and  stolen  it  while  they  were  merry 
with  the  goose — a  supposition  at  which  the  two  young  Cratchits 
became  livid !  All  sorts  of  horrors  were  supposed.  490 

Hallo  !  A  great  deal  of  steam  !  The  pudding  was  out  of  the 
copper.  A  smell  like  a  washing-day !  That  was  the  cloth.  A 
smell  like  an  eating-house  and  a  pastry-cook's  next  door  to  each 
other,  with  a  laundress's  next  door  to  that !  That  was  the  pud- 
ding !  In  half  a  minute  Mrs.  Cratchit  entered — flushed,  but  smil-  495 
ing  proudly — with  the  pudding,  like  a  speckled  cannon-ball,  so 
hard  and  firm,  blazing  in  half  of  half  a  quartern  of  ignited  brandy, 
and  bedight*  with  Christmas  holly  stuck  into  the  top. 

Oh,  a  wonderful  pudding !    Bob  Cratchit  said,  and  calmly  too, 
that  he  regarded  it  as  the  greatest  success  achieved  by  Mrs.  SQO 
Cratchit  since  their  marriage.     Mrs.  Cratchit  said  that,  now  the 
weight  was  off  her  mind,  she  would  confess  she  had  had  her 
doubts  about  the  quantity  of  flour.     Everybody  had  something 
to  say  about  it,  but  nobody  said  or  thought  it  was  at  all  a  small 
pudding  for  a  large  family.     Any  Cratchit  would  have  blushed  5°s 
to  hint  at  such  a  thing. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  all  done,  the  cloth  was  cleared,  the 
hearth  swept,  and  the  fire  made  up.  The  compound  in  the  jug 
being  tasted,  and  considered  perfect,  apples  and  oranges  were 
put  upon  the  table,  and  a  shovelful  of  chestnuts  on  the  fire.  510 

Then  all  the  Cratchit  family  drew  round  the  hearth,  in  what 
Bob  Cratchit  called  a  circle,  and  at  Bob  Cratchit's  elbow  stood 
the  family  display  of  glass — two  tumblers,  and  a  custard -cup 
without  a  handle. 

These  held  the  hot  stuff  from  the  jug,  however,  as  well  as  sis 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  482.  were  steeped,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of 
speech  ? 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  565 

golden  goblets  would  have  done ;  and  Bob  served  it  out  with 
beaming  looks,  while  the  chestnuts  on  the  fire  sputtered  and 
crackled  noisily.  Then  Bob  proposed  : 

"  A  merry  Christmas  to  us  all,  my  dears.     God  bless  us  !" 

Which  all  the  family  re-echoed.  520 

"  God  bless  us  every  one  !"  said  Tiny  Tim,  the  last  of  all. 

He  sat  very  close  to  his  father's  side,  upon  his  little  stool. 
Bob  held  his  withered  little  hand  in  his,  as  if  he  loved  the  child, 
and  wished  to  keep  him  by  his  side,  and  dreaded  that  he  might 
be  taken  from  him.  525 

Scrooge  raised  his  head  speedily,  on  hearing  his  own  name. 

"  Mr.  Scrooge !"  said  Bob ;  "  I'll  give  you  Mr.  Scrooge,  the 
Founder  of  the  Feast !" 

"  The  Founder  of  the  Feast  indeed  !"  cried  Mrs.  Cratchit,  red- 
dening.    "I  wish  I  had  him  here.     I'd  give  him  a  piece  of  my 530 
mind  to  feast  upon,  and  I  hope  he'd  have  a  good  appetite  for  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Bob,  "  the  children  !     Christmas-day." 

"It  should  be  Christmas-day,  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "on  which 
one  drinks  the  health  of  such  an  odious,  stingy,  hard,  unfeeling 
man  as  Mr.  Scrooge.     You  know  he  is,  Robert !    Nobody  knows  535 
it  better  than  you  do,  poor  fellow  !" 

"  My  dear,"  was  Bob's  mild  answer,  "  Christmas-day." 

"  I'll  drink  his  health  for  your  sake  and  the  day's,"  said  Mrs. 
Cratchit,  "  not  for  his.     Long  life  to  him  !     A  merry  Christmas 
and  a  happy  New  Year !     He'll  be  very  merry  and  very  happy,  540 
I  have  no  doubt!" 

The  children  drank  the  toast  after  her.     It  was  the  first  of 
their  proceedings  which  had  no  heartiness  in  it.    Tiny  Tim  drank 
it  last  of  all,  but  he  didn't  care  twopence  for  it.    Scrooge  was  the 
Ogre  of  the  family.     The  mention  of  his  name  cast  a  dark  shad-  M5 
ow  on  the  party,  which  was  not  dispelled  for  full  five  minutes. 

After  it  had  passed  away,  they  were  ten  times  merrier  than  be- 
fore, from  the  mere  relief  of  Scrooge  the  Baleful  being  done  with. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 530,  531.  a,  piece  of  my  mind.  What  is  the  figure  or 
speech  ? 

540,  541.  He'll .  .  .  doubt !     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

547-567.  In  this  paragraph  select  all  the  words  of  other  than  Anglo-Saxon 
origin. 


566  DICKENS. 

Bob  Cratchit  told  them  how  he  had  a  situation  in  his  eye  for 
Master  Peter,  which  would  bring  in,  if  obtained,  full  five  and  six-  550 
pence  weekly.     The  two  young  Cratch  its  laughed  tremendously 
at  the  idea  of  Peter's  being  a  man  of  business ;  and  Peter  him- 
self looked  thoughtfully  at  the  fire  from  between  his  collars,  as 
if  he  were  deliberating  what  particular  investments  he  should 
favor  when  he  came  into  the  receipt  of  that  bewildering  income,  sss 
Martha,  who  was  a  poor  apprentice  at  a  milliner's,  then  told  them 
what  kind  of  work  she  had  to  do,  and  how  many  hours  she  work- 
ed at  a  stretch,  and  how  she  meant  to  lie  abed  to-morrow  morn- 
ing for  a  good  long  rest ;  to-morrow  being  a  holiday  she  passed 
at  home.     Also  how  she  had  seen  a  countess  and  a  lord  some  560 
days  before,  and  how  the  lord  "was  much  about  as  tall  as  Peter;" 
at  which  Peter  pulled  up  his  collars  so  high  that  you  couldn't 
have  seen  his  head  if  you  had  been  there.     All  this  time  the 
chestnuts  and  the  jug  went  round  and  round ;   and  by-and-by 
they  had  a  song,  about  a  lost  child  travelling  in  the  snow,  from  565 
Tiny  Tim,  who  had  a  plaintive  little  voice,  and  sang  it  very  well 
indeed. 

There  was  nothing  of  high  mark  in  this.     They  were  not  a     * 
handsome  family ;  they  were  not  well  dressed  ;  their  shoes  were 
far  from  being  water-proof ;  their  clothes  were  scanty ;  and  Peter  57° 
might  have  known,  and  very  likely  did,  the  inside  of  a  pawn- 
broker's.    But  they  were  happy,  grateful,  pleased  with  one  an- 
other, and  contented  with  the  time ;  and  when  they  faded,  and 
looked  happier  yet  in  the  bright  sprinklings  of  the  Spirit's  torch 
at  parting,  Scrooge  had  his  eye  upon  them,  and  especially  on  575 
Tiny  Tim,  until  the  last. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Scrooge,  as  this  scene  vanished,  to 
hear  a  hearty  laugh.    It  was  a  much  greater  surprise  to  Scrooge 
to  recognize  it  as  his  own  nephew's,  and  to  find  himself  in  a 
bright,  dry,  gleaming  room,  with  the  Spirit  standing  smiling  by  580 
his  side,  and  looking  at  that  same  nephew. 

It  is  a  fair,  even-handed,  noble  adjustment  of  things  that,  while 
there  is  infection*  in  disease  and  sorrow,  there  is  nothing  in  the 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 568-576.  Point  out  the  antithesis  in  this  paragraph. 
583.  infection.      Discriminate  between   "  infection "   and  contagion.     (See 
Glossary.) 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  567 

world  so  irresistibly  contagious  as  laughter  and  good -humor. 
When  Scrooge's  nephew  laughed,  Scrooge's  niece  by  marriage  585 
laughed  as  heartily  as  he.     And  their  assembled  friends,  being 
not  a  bit  behindhand,  laughed  out  lustily. 

"He  said  that  Christmas  was  a  humbug,  as  I  live!"  cried 
Scrooge's  nephew.  "  He  believed  it  too  !" 

"  More  shame  for  him,  Fred  !"  said  Scrooge's  niece,  indignant-  590 
ly.    Bless  those  women  !  they  never  do  anything  by  halves.    They 
are  always  in  earnest. 

She  was  very  pretty ;  exceedingly  pretty.  With  a  dimpled, 
surprised-looking,  capital  face,  a  ripe  little  mouth  that  seemed 
made  to  be  kissed — as  no  doubt  it  was  ;  all  kinds  of  good  little  595 
dots  about  her  chin,  that  melted  into  one  another  when  she 
laughed  ;  and  the  sunniest  pair  of  eyes  you  ever  saw  in  any  little 
creature's  head.  Altogether  she  was  what  you  would  have  called 
provoking,  but  satisfactory,  too.  Oh,  perfectly  satisfactory. 

"  He's  a  comical  old  fellow,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew,  "  that's  600 
the  truth;  and  not  so  pleasant  as  he  might  be.     However,  his 
offences  carry  their  own  punishment,  and  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  him.     Who  suffers  by  his  ill  whims  ?     Himself,  always. 
Here  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  dislike  us,  and  he  won't  come 
and  dine  with  us.     What's  the  consequence  ?     He  don't  lose  6o5 
much  of  a  dinner." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  he  loses  a  very  good  dinner,"  interrupted 
Scrooge's  niece.     Everybody  else  said  the  same,  and  they  must 
be  allowed  to  have  been  competent  judges,  because  they  had  just 
had  dinner;  and,  with  the  dessert*  upon  the  table,  were  clus-6io 
tered  round  the  fire,  by  lamplight. 

"Well,  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew, 
"  because  I  haven't  any  great  faith  in  these  young  housekeepers. 
What  do  you  say,  Topper  ?" 

Topper  clearly  had  his  eye  on  one  of  Scrooge's  niece's  sisters,  615 
for  he  answered  that  a  bachelor  was  a  wretched  outcast,  who  had 
no  right  to  express  an  opinion  on  the  subject.   Whereat  Scrooge's 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 593-599.  She ...  satisfactory.  The  deftness  of  the 
description  (which  is  in  Dickens's  best  manner)  will  be  observed  by  the  pu- 
pil. 

610.  dessert.     Derivation? 


568  DICKENS. 

niece's  sister — the  plump  one  with  the  lace  tucker,  not  the  one 
with  the  roses — blushed. 

After  tea  they  had  some  music.    For  they  were  a  musical  fam-  620 
ily,  and  knew  what  they  were  about  when  they  sang  a  glee  or 
catch,  I  can  assure  you — especially  Topper,  who  could  growl 
away  in  the  bass*  like  a  good  one,-  and  never  swell  the  large 
veins  in  his  forehead,  or  get  red  in  the  face  over  it. 

But  they  didn't  devote  the  whole  evening  to  music.  After  a  625 
while  they  played  at  forfeits ;  for  it  is  good  to  be  children  some- 
times, and  never  better  than  at  Christmas,  when  its  mighty 
Founder  was  a  child  himself.  There  was  first  a  game  at  blind- 
man's-buff  though.  And  I  no  more  believe  Topper  was  really 
blinded  than  I  believe  he  had  eyes  in  his  boots.  Because  the  630 
way  in  which  he  went  after  that  plump  sister  in  the  lace  tucker 
was  an  outrage  on  the  credulity  of  human  nature.  Knocking 
down  the  fire-irons,  tumbling  over  the  chairs,  bumping  up  against 
the  piano,  smothering  himself  among  the  curtains — wherever  she 
went,  there  went  he  !  He  always  knew  where  the  plump  sister  635 
was.  He  wouldn't  catch  anybody  else.  If  you  had  fallen  up 
against  him,  as  some  of  them  did,  and  stood  there,  he  would  have 
made  a  feint  of  endeavoring  to  seize  you,  which  would  have  been 
an  affront  to  your  understanding,  and  would  instantly  have  sidled 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  plump  sister.  6*> 

"  Here  is  a  new  game,"  said  Scrooge.    "  One  half-hour,  Spirit, 
only  one !" 

It  was  a  game  called  Yes  and  No,  where  Scrooge's  nephew 
had  to  think  of  something,  and  the  rest  must  find  out  what ;  he 
only  answering  to  their  questions  yes  or  no,  as  the  case  was.  645 
The  fire  of  questioning  to  which  he  was  exposed  elicited  from 
him  that  he  was  thinking  of  an  animal,  a  live  animal,  rather  a 
disagreeable  animal,  a  savage  animal,  an  animal  that  growled 
and  grunted  sometimes,  and  talked  sometimes,  and  lived  in  Lon- 
don, and  walked  about  the  streets,  and  wasn't  made  a  show  of,  65o 
and  wasn't  led  by  anybody,  and  didn't  live  in  a  menagerie,  and 
was  never  killed  in  a  market,  and  was  not  a  horse,  or  an  ass,  or 
a  cow,  or  a  bull,  or  a  tiger,  or  a  dog,  or  a  pig,  or  a  cat,  or  a  bear. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 625-640.  The  master's  hand  is  seen  in  this  capital 
description. 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  569 

At  every  new  question  put  to  him,  this  nephew  burst  into  a  fresh 
roar  of  laughter,  and  was  so  inexpressibly  tickled  that  he  was  655 
obliged  to  get  up  off  the  sofa  and  stamp.    At  last  the  plump  sis- 
ter cried  out, 

"  I  have  found  it  out !  I  know  what  it  is,  Fred  !  I  know  what 
it  is  !" 

"  What  is  it?"  cried  Fred.  660 

"  It's  your  uncle  Scro-o-o-o-oge  !" 

Which  it  certainly  was.  Admiration  was  the  universal  senti- 
ment, though  some  objected  that  the  reply  to  "  Is  it  a  bear  ?" 
ought  to  have  been  "  Yes." 

Uncle  Scrooge  had  imperceptibly  become  so  gay  and  light  of  665 
heart  that  he  would  have  drunk  to  the  unconscious  company  in 
an  inaudible  speech.     But  the  whole  scene  passed  off  in  the 
breath  of  the  last  word  spoken  by  his  nephew ;  and  he  and  the 
Spirit  were  again  upon  their  travels. 

Much  they  saw,  and  far  they  went,  and  many  homes  they  vis-  67o 
ited,  but  always  with  a  happy  end.     The  Spirit  stood  beside 
sick-beds,  and  they  were  cheerful ;  on  foreign  lands,  and  they 
were  close  at  home ;  by  struggling  men,  and  they  were  patient 
in  their  greater  hope ;  by  poverty,  and  it  was  rich.     In  alms- 
house,  hospital,  and  jail,  in  misery's   every  refuge  where  vain  675 
man,  in  his  little  brief  authority,  had  not  made  fast  the  door  and 
barred  the  Spirit  out,  he  left  his  blessing  and  taught  Scrooge 
his  precepts.     Suddenly,  as  they  stood  together  in  an  open  place, 
the  bell  struck  twelve. 

Scrooge  looked  about  him  for  the  Ghost,  and  saw  it  no  more.  680 
As  the  last  stroke  ceased  to  vibrate,  he  remembered  the  predic- 
tion of  old  Jacob  Marley,  and,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  beheld  a  sol- 
emn Phantom,  draped  and  hooded,  coming  like  a  mist  along  the 
ground  towards  him. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 667.  inaudible  speech.    What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 
670.  Much,  etc.     Remark  on  the  order  of  words. 

671-674.  The  Spirit .  . .  rich.     Remark  on  the  construction  of  the  sentence. 
674-678.  In  ...  precepts.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ? 


S70  DICKENS. 


STAVE   FOUR.-THE   LAST  OF  THE   SPIRITS. 

The  Phantom  slowly,  gravely,  silently  approached.     When  it  685 
came  near  him,  Scrooge  bent  down  upon  his  knee ;  for  in  the  air 
through  which  this  Spirit  moved  it  seemed  to  scatter  gloom  and 
mystery. 

It  was  shrouded  in  a  deep-black  garment,  which  concealed  its 
head,  its  face,  its  form,  and  left  nothing  of  it  visible  save  one  out-  690 
stretched  hand.     He  knew  no  more,  for  the  Spirit  neither  spoke 
nor  moved. 

"I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  to 
Come  ?  Ghost  of  the  Future !  I  fear  you  more  than  any  spec- 
tre I  have  seen.  But  as  I  know  your  purpose  is  to  do  me  good,  695 
and  as  I  hope  to  live  to  be  another  man  from  what  I  was,  I  am 
prepared  to  bear  you  company,  and  do  it  with  a  thankful  heart. 
Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?" 

It  gave  him  no  reply.  The  hand  was  pointed  straight  before 
them.  7oo 

"  Lead  on !  Lead  on !  The  night  is  waning  fast,  and  it  is 
precious  time  to  me,  I  know.  Lead  on,  Spirit !" 

They  scarcely  seemed  to  enter  the  city,  for  the  city  rather 
seemed  to  spring  up  about  them.  But  there  they  were  in  the 
heart  of  it ;  on  'Change,  amongst  the  merchants.  705 

The  Spirit  stopped  beside  one  little  knot  of  business  men. 
Observing  that  the  hand  was  pointed  to  them,  Scrooge  advanced 
to  listen  to  their  talk. 

"  No,"  said  a  great  fat  man  with  a  monstrous  chin,  "  I  don't 
know  much  about  it  either  way.  I  only  know  he's  dead."  710 

"  When  did  he  die  ?"  inquired  another. 

"  Last  night,  I  believe." 

"  Why,  what  was  the  matter  with  him  ?  I  thought  he'd  never 
die." 

"  God  knows,"  said  the  first,  with  a  yawn.  7is 

"  What  has  he  done  with  his  money  ?"  asked  a  red-faced  gen- 
tleman. 

"  I  haven't  heard,"  said  the  man  with  the  large  chin.  "  Com- 
pany, perhaps.  He  hasn't  left  it  to  me.  That's  all  I  know.  By, 


A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


57« 


Scrooge  was  at  first  inclined  to  be  surprised  that  the  Spirit 
should  attach  importance  to  conversation  apparently  so  trivial , 
but,  feeling  assured  that  it  must  have  some  hidden  purpose,  he 
set  himself  to  consider  what  it  was  likely  to  be.  It  could  scarce- 
ly be  supposed  to  have  any  bearing  on  the  death  of  Jacob,  his  7*5 
old  partner,  for  that  was  Past,  and  this  Ghost's  province  was  the 
Future. 

He  looked  about  in  that  very  place  for  his  own  image ;  but 
another  man  stood  in  his  accustomed  corner,  and  though  the 
clock  pointed  to  his  usual  time  of  day  for  being  there,  he  saw  no  730 
likeness  of  himself  among  the  multitudes  that  poured  in  through 
the  Porch.  It  gave  him  little  surprise,  however,  for  he  had  been 
revolving  in  his  mind  a  change  of  life,  and  he  thought  and  hoped 
he  saw  his  new-born  resolutions  carried  out  in  this. 

They  left  this  busy  scene,  and  went  into  an  obscure  part  of  735 
the  town,  to  a  low  shop  where  iron,  old  rags,  bottles,  bones,  and 
greasy  offal  were  bought.    A  gray-haired  rascal,  of  great  age,  sat 
smoking  his  pipe. 

Scrooge  and  the  Phantom  came  into  the  presence  of  this  man, 
just  as  a  woman  with  a  heavy  bundle  slunk  into  the  shop.  But  740 
she  had  scarcely  entered,  when  another  woman,  similarly  laden, 
came  in  too,  and  she  was  closely  followed  by  a  man  in  faded 
black.  After  a  short  period  of  blank  astonishment,  in  which  the 
old  man  with  the  pipe  had  joined  them,  they  all  three  burst  into 
a  laugh.  745 

"  Let  the  charwoman  alone  to  be  the  first !"  cried  she  who  had 
entered  first.  "  Let  the  laundress  alone  to  be  the  second ;  and 
let  the  undertaker's  man  alone  to  be  the  third.  Look  here,  old 
Joe,  here's  a  chance  !  If  we  haven't  all  three  met  here  without 
meaning  it !"  TP 

"  You  couldn't  have  met  in  a  better  place.  You  were  made 
free  of  it  long  ago,  you  know;  and  the  other  two  ain't  strangers. 
What  have  you  got  to  sell  ?  What  have  you  got  to  sell  ?" 

"  Half  a  minute's  patience,  Joe,  and  you  shall  see." 

"What  odds,  then  !     What  odds,  Mrs.  Dilber ?"  said  the  worn-  755 
an.     "  Every  person  has  a  right  to  take  care  of  themselves.     He 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 756.  Every  person  . . .  themselves.     Is  this  correct  in 
strict  grammar  ?    Is  it  appropriate  here  ? 


572  DICKENS. 

always  did !     Who's  the  worse  for  the  loss  of  a  few  things  like 
these  ?     Not  a  dead  man,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Dilber,  whose  manner  was  remarkable  for  general  propi- 
tiation,* said,  "  No,  indeed,  ma'am."  760 

"  If  he  wanted  to  keep  'em  after  he  was  dead,  a  wicked  old 
screw,  why  wasn't  he  natural  in  his  lifetime  ?  If  he  had  been, 
he'd  have  had  somebody  to  look  after  him  when  he  was  struck 
with  death,  instead  of  lying  gasping  out  his  last  there,  alone  by 
himself."  765 

"  It's  the  truest  word  that  ever  was  spoke — it's  a  judgment  on 
him." 

"  I  wish  it  was  a  little  heavier  judgment ;  and  it  should  have 
been,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  if  I  could  have  laid  my  hands  on 
anything  else.     Open  that  bundle,  old  Joe,  and  let  me  know  the  77° 
value  of  it.     Speak  out  plain.     I'm  not  afraid  to  be  the  first,  nor 
afraid  for  them  to  see  it." 

Joe  went  down  on  his  knees  for  the  greater  convenience  of 
opening  the  bundle,  and  dragged  out  a  large  and  heavy  roll  of 
some  dark  stuff.  775 

"  What  do  you  call  this  ?     Bed-curtains  !" 

"  Ah  !  Bed-curtains !  Don't  drop  that  oil  upon  the  blankets, 
now." 

"His  blankets!" 

"  Whose  else's  do  you  think  ?  He  isn't  likely  to  take  cold  780 
without  'em,  I  dare  say.  Ah !  You  may  look  through  that  shirt 
till  your  eyes  ache  ;  but  you  won't  find  a  hole  in  it,  nor  a  thread- 
bare place.  It's  the  best  he  had,  and  a  fine  one  too.  They'd 
have  wasted  it  by  dressing  him  up  in  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
me."  78s 

Scrooge  listened  to  this  dialogue  in  horror. 

"  Spirit !  I  see,  I  see.  The  case  of  this  unhappy  man  might 
be  my  own.  My  life  tends  that  way  now.  Merciful  Heaven, 
what  is  this  ?" 

The  scene  had  changed,  and  now  he  almost  touched  a  bare,  790 
uncurtained  bed.    A  pale  light,  rising  in  the  outer  air,  fell  straight 
upon  this  bed ;  and  on  it,  unwatched,  unwept,  uncared  for,  was 
the  body  of  this  plundered  unknown  man. 

"  Spirit,  let  me  see  some  tenderness  connected  with  a  death, 
or  this  dark  chamber,  Spirit,  will  be  forever  present  to  me."  795 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  573 

The  Ghost  conducted  him  to  poor  Bob  Cratchit's  house — the 
dwelling  he  had  visited  before — and  found  the  mother  and  the 
children  seated  round  the  fire. 

Quiet ;  very  quiet.     The  noisy  little  Cratchits  were  as  still  as 
statues  in  one  corner,  and  sat  looking  up  at  Peter,  who  had  a  800 
book  before  him.     The  mother  and  her  daughters  were  engaged 
in  needlework.     But  surely  they  were  very  quiet ! 

"  *  And  he  took  a. child,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  them.' " 

Where  had  Scrooge  heard  those  words  ?     He  had  not  dream- 
ed them.     The  boy  must  have  read  them  out,  as  he  and  the  Spir-  805 
it  crossed  the  threshold.     Why  did  he  not  go  on  ?" 

The  mother  laid  her  work  upon  the  table,  and  put  her  hand 
up  to  her  face. 

"  The  color  harts  my  eyes,"  she  said. 

The  color  ?     Ah,  poor  Tiny  Tim  !  810 

"They're  better  now  again.  It  makes  them  weak  by  candle- 
light ;  and  I  wouldn't  show  weak  eyes  to  your  father  when  he 
comes  home  for  the  world.  It  must  be  near  his  time." 

"  Past  it  rather,"  Peter  answered,  shutting  up  his  book.    "  But 
I  think  he  has  walked  a  little  slower  than  he  used,  these  last  few  815 
evenings,  mother." 

"  I  have  known  him  walk  with — I  have  known  him  walk  with 
Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder,  very  fast  indeed." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  cried  Peter.     "  Often." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  exclaimed  another.     So  had  all.  820 

"  But  he  was  very  light  to  carry,  and  his  father  loved  him  so 
that  it  was  no  trouble — no  trouble.  And  there  is  your  father  at' 
the  door !" 

She  hurried  out  to  meet  him ;  and  little  Bob  in  his  comforter 
— he  had  need  of  it,  poor  fellow — came  in.  His  tea  was  ready  825 
for  him  on  the  hob,  and  they  all  tried  who  should  help  him  to  it 
most.  Then  the  two  young  Cratchits  got  upon  his  knees  and 
laid,  each  child,  a  little  cheek  against  his  face,  as  if  they  said, 
"  Don't  mind  it,  father.  Don't  be  grieved !" 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 796-841.  The  imaginary  death  of  Tiny  Tim  forms 
a  companion  piece  to  the  imaginary  death  of  Scrooge,  and  the  exquisite  ten- 
derness of  the  one  is  finely  set  off  by  the  ghastly  circumstances  of  the  other. 
Both  should  receive  the  careful  study  of  the  pupil. 


574  DICKENS. 

Bob  was  very  cheerful,  with  them,  and  spoke  pleasantly  to  all  830 
the  family.     He  looked  at  the  work  upon  the  table,  and  praised 
the  industry  and  speed  of  Mrs.  Cratchit  and  the  girls.     They 
would  be  done  long  before  Sunday,  he  said. 

"  Sunday !     You  went  to-day,  then,  Robert  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  returned  Bob.    "  I  wish  you  could  have  gone.  835 
It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how  green  a  place  it  is. 
But  you'll  see  it  often.    I  promised  him  that  I  would  walk  there 
on  a  Sunday.     My  little,  little  child !     My  little  child !" 

He  broke  down  all  at  once.    He  couldn't  help  it.    If  he  could 
have  helped  it,  he  and  his  child  would  have  been  farther  apart,  84o 
perhaps,  than  they  were. 

"  Spectre,"  said  Scrooge,  "  something  informs  me  that  our 
parting  moment  is  at  hand.  I  know  it,  but  I  know  not  how.  Tell 
me  what  man  that  was,  with  the  covered  face,  whom  we  saw  lying 
dead?"  845 

The  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  to  Come  conveyed  him  to  a  dis- 
mal, wretched,  ruinous  churchyard. 

The  Spirit  stood  among  the  graves,  and  pointed  down  to  one. 

"Before  I  draw  nearer  to  that  stone  to  which  you  point,  an- 
swer me  one  question.    Are  these  the  shadows  of  the  things  that  850 
Will  be,  or  are  they  shadows  of  the  things  that  May  be  only  ?" 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  downward  to  the  grave  by  which  it 
stood. 

11  Men's  courses  will  foreshadow  certain  ends,  to  which,  if  per- 
severed in,  they  must  lead.    But  if  the  courses  be  departed  from,  855 
'the  ends  will  change.     Say  it  is  thus  with  what  you  show  me!" 

The  Spirit  was  immovable  as  ever. 

Scrooge  crept  towards  it,  trembling  as  he  went ;  and,  following 
the  finger,  read  upon  the  stone  of  the  neglected  grave  his  own 
name — Ebenezer  Scrooge.  860 

"  Am  /  that  man  who  lay  upon  the  bed  ?  No,  Spirit !  Oh  no, 
no  !  Spirit !  hear  me  !  I  am  not  the  man  I  was.  I  will  not  be 
the  man  I  must  have  been  but  for  this  intercourse.  Why  show 
me  this  if  I  am  past  all  hope  ?  Assure  me  that  I  yet  may  change 
these  shadows  you  have  shown  me  by  an  altered  life."  865 

For  the  first  time  the  kind  hand  faltered. 

"  I  will  honor  Christmas  in  my  heart,  and  try  to  keep  it  all  the 
year.  I  will  live  in  the  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future.  The 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


575 


Spirits  of  all  three  shall  strive  within  me.    I  will  not  shut  out  the 
lessons  that  they  teach.     Oh,  tell  me  I  may  sponge  away  the  87o 
writing  on  this  stone  !" 

Holding  up  his  hands  in  one  last  prayer  to  have  his  fate  re- 
versed, he  saw  an  alteration  in  the  Phantom's  hood  and  dress. 
It  shrank,  collapsed,  and  dwindled  down  into  a  bedpost. 

Yes,  and  the  bedpost  was  his  own.    The  bed  was  his  own,  the  875 
room  was  his  own.     Best  and  happiest  of  all,  the  Time  before 
him  was  his  own,  to  make  amends  in  ! 

He  was  checked  in  his  transports  by  the  churches  ringing  out 
the  lustiest  peals  he  had  ever  heard. 

Running  to  the  window,  he  opened  it,  and  put  out  his  head.  880 
No  fog,  no  mist,  no  night ;  clear,  bright,  stirring,  golden  day. 

"  What's  to-day  ?"  cried  Scrooge,  calling  downward  to  a  boy  in 
Sunday  clothes,  who  perhaps  had  loitered  in  to  look  about  him. 

"Eh?" 

"  What's  to-day,  my  fine  fellow  ?"  88S 

"  To-day !     Why,  Christmas-day." 

"  It's  Christmas-day !  I  haven't  missed  it.  Hallo,  my  fine 
fellow !" 

"  Hallo  !" 

"  Do  you  know  the  poulterer's,  in  the  next  street  but  one,  at  890 
the  corner?" 

"  I  should  hope  I  did." 

(An  intelligent  boy  !  A  remarkable  boy !) — "  Do  you  know 
whether  they've  sold  the  prize  Turkey  that  was  hanging  up 
there  ?  Not  the  little  prize  Turkey — the  big.  one  ?"  89S 

"  What,  the  one  as  big  as  me  ?" 

"  What  a  delightful  boy  !  It's  a  pleasure  to  talk  to  him.  Yes, 
my  buck !" 

"  It's  hanging  there  now." 

"  Is  it !     Go  and  buy  it."  900 

"  Walk-ER  !"  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  in  earnest.  Go  and  buy  it,  and  tell  'em  to  bring 
it  here,  that  I  may  give  them  the  direction  where  to  take  it. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 88 1.  No ...  day.     What  is  the  effect  of  the  ellipses  ? 
901.  Walk-ER.    A  piece  of  London  slang  in  vogue  at  the  time  the  Christmas 
Carol  was  written.     It  implies  utter  incredulity. 


576  DICKENS. 

Come  back  with  the  man,  and  I'll  give  you  a  shilling.     Come 
back  with  him  in  less  than  five  minutes,  and  I'll  give  you  half  a  905 
crown !" 

The  boy  was  off  like  a  shot. 

"  I'll  send  it  to  Bob  Cratchit's  !  He  sha'n't  know  who  sends 
it.  It's  twice  the  size  of  Tiny  Tim.  Joe  Miller  never  made 
such  a  joke  as  sending  it  to  Bob's  will  be !"  910 

The  hand  in  which  he  wrote  the  address  was  not  a  steady  one ; 
but  write  it  he  did,  somehow,  and  went  down  stairs  to  open  the 
street  door,  ready  for  the  coming  of  the  poulterer's  man. 

It  was  a  Turkey!     He  never  could  have  stood  upon  his  legs, 
that  bird.     He  would  have  snapped  'em  short  off  in  a  minute,  915 
like  sticks  of  sealing-wax. 

Scrooge  dressed  himself  "  all  in  his  best,"  and  at  last  got  out 
into  the  streets.  The  people  were  by  this  time  pouring  forth,  as 
he  had  seen  them  with  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present ;  and, 
walking  with  his  hands  behind  him,  Scrooge  regarded  every  one  92° 
with  a  delighted  smile.  He  looked  so  irresistibly  pleasant,  in  a 
word,  that  three  or  four  good-humored  fellows  said,  "  Good-morn- 
ing, sir !  A  merry  Christmas  to  you  !"  And  Scrooge  said  often 
afterwards  that,  of  all  the  blithe  sounds  he  had  ever  heard,  those 
were  the  blithest  in  his  ears.  925 

In  the  afternoon,  he  turned  his  steps  towards  his  nephew's 
house. 

He  passed  the  door  a  dozen  times  before  he  had  the  courage 
to  go  up  and  knock.  But  he  made  a  dash,  and  did  it. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home,  my  dear  ?"  said  Scrooge  to  the  girl.  930 
(Nice  girl !     Very.) 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Where  is  he,  my  love  ?" 

"  He's  in  the  dining-room,  sir,  along  with  mistress." 

"  He  knows  me,"  said  Scrooge,  with  his  hand  already  on  the  93.? 
dining-room  lock.     "  I'll  go  in  here,  my  dear." 

"  Fred !" 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul  !"  cried  Fred,  "  who's  that  ?" 

"  It's  I.  Your  uncle  Scrooge.  I  have  come  to  dinner.  Will 
you  let  me  in,  Fred  ?"  940 

Let  him  in !  It  is  a  mercy  he  didn't  shake  his  arm  off.  He 
was  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Nothing  could  be  heartier.  His 


A    CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


577 


niece  looked  just  the  same.     So  did  Topper  when  he  came.     So 
did  the  plump  sister,  when  she  came.    So  did  every  one  when  they 
came.    Wonderful  party,  wonderful  games,  wonderful  unanimity,  945 
won-der-ful  happiness ! 

But  he  was  early  at  the  office  next  morning.  Oh,  he  was  early 
there.  If  he  could  only  be  there  first,  and  catch  Bob  Cratchit 
coming  late !  That  was  the  thing  he  had  set  his  heart  upon. 

And  he  did  it.     The  clock  struck  nine.     No  Bob.     A  quarter  950 
past.     No  Bob.     Bob  was  full  eighteen  minutes  and  a  half  be- 
hind his  time.     Scrooge  sat  with  his  door  wide  open,  that  he 
might  see  him  come  into  the  Tank. 

Bob's  hac  was  off  before  he  opened  the  door ;  his  comforter 
too.     He  was  on  his  stool  in  a  jiffy ;  driving  away  with  his  pen,  955 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  overtake  nine  o'clock. 

"  Hallo !"  growled  Scrooge,  in  his  accustomed  voice,  as  near 
as  he  could  feign  it.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  at 
this  time  of  day  ?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir.     I  am  behind  my  time."  960 

"  You  are  ?  Yes.  I  think  you  are.  Step  this  way,  if  you 
please." 

"  It's  only  once  a  year,  sir.  It  shall  not  be  repeated.  I  was 
making  rather  merry  yesterday,  sir." 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  friend.     I  am  not  going  to  stand  965 
this  sort  of  thing  any  longer.     And  therefore,"  Scrooge  contin- 
ued, leaping  from  his  stool,  and  giving  Bob  such  a  dig  in  the 
waistcoat  that  he  staggered  back  into  the  Tank  again—"  and 
therefore  I  am  about  to  raise  your  salary !" 

Bob  trembled,  and  got  a  little  nearer  to  the  ruler.  970 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  Bob  !"  said  Scrooge,  with  an  earnestness 
that  could  not  be  mistaken,  as  he  clapped  him  on  the  back.  "  A 
merrier  Christmas,  Bob,  my  good  fellow,  than  I  have  given  you 
for  many  a  year !  I'll  raise  your  salary,  and  endeavor  to  assist 
your  struggling  family,  and  we  will  discuss  your  affairs  this  very  975 
afternoon,  over  a  Christmas  bowl  of  smoking  bishop,  Bob  !  Make 
up  the  fires,  and  buy  a  second  coal-scuttle  before  you  dot  another 
i,  Bob  Cratchit !" 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. —  947-978.  But ..  .Cratchit!  Relate  in  your  own 
Words  the  little  drama  between  Scrooge  and  Bob  Cratchit. 

37 


57g  DICKENS. 

Scrooge  was  better  than  his  word.  He  did  it  all,  and  infinitely 
more  ;  and  to  Tiny  Tim,  who  did  NOT  die,  he  was  a  second  father.  98" 
He  became  as  good  a  friend,  as  good  a  master,  and  as  good  a 
man  as  the  good  old  city  knew,  or  any  other  good  old  city,  town, 
or  borough  in  the  good  old  world.  Some  people  laughed  to  see 
the  alteration  in  him ;  but  his  own  heart  laughed,  and  that  was 
quite  enough  for  him.  985 

He  had  no  further  intercourse  with  Spirits,  but  lived  in  that 
respect  upon  the  Total-Abstinence  Principle  ever  afterwards ; 
and  it  was  always  said  of  him  that  he  knew  how  to  keep  Christ- 
mas well,  if  any  man  alive  possessed  the  knowledge.  May  that 
be  truly  said  of  us,  and  all  of  us !  And  so,  as  Tiny  Tim  ob-  99° 
served,  God  Bless  Us,  Every  One  ! 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 979-991.  In  these  two  paragraphs  which  words  are 
of  Anglo-Saxon,  and  which  of  classical,  origin  ? 


XXXVIII. 


JAMES    RUSSELL   LOWELL: 

1819. 


VISION   OF   SIR   LAUNFAL. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  note  was  prefixed  by  Mr.  Lowell  to  th"e 
first  edition  of  the  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  (Cambridge,  1848):  "According  to 
the  mythology  of  the  Romancers,  the  San  Greal,  or  Holy  Grail,  was  the 
cup  out  of  which  Jesus  partook  of  the  last  supper  with  his  disciples.  It 
was  brought  into  England  by  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  remained  there,  an 
object  of  pilgrimage  and  adoration  for  many  years,  in  the  keeping  of  his 


58o  LOWELL. 

lineal  descendants.  It  was  incumbent  upon  those  who  had  charge  of  it  to 
be  chaste  in  thought,  word,  and  deed ;  but  one  of  the  keepers  having  broken 
this  condition,  the  Holy  Grail  disappeared.  From  that  time  it  was  a  favorite 
enterprise  of  the  knights  of  Arthur's  court  to  go  in  search  of  it.  Sir  Galahad 
was  at  last  successful  in  finding  it,  as  may  be  read  in  the  seventeenth  book  of 
the  Romance  of  King  Arthur.  Tennyson  has  made  Sir  Galahad  the  subject 
of  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  his  poems."] 

PRELUDE  TO   PART   FIRST. 

1.  Over  his  keys  the  musing  organist, 

Beginning  doubtfully  and  far  away, 
First  lets  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list, 

And  builds  a  bridge  from  Dreamland  for  his  lay : 
Then,  as  the  touch  of  his  loved  instrument 

Gives  hope  and  fervor,  nearer  draws  his  theme, 
First  guessed  by  faint  auroral  flushes  sent 

Along  the  wavering  vista  of  his  dream. 

2.  Not  only  around  our  infancy 

Doth  heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lie ;  J 

Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not. 
Over  our  manhood  bend  the  skies; 

Against  our  fallen  and  traitor  lives 
The  great  winds  utter  prophecies ;  t 

With  our  faint  hearts  the  mountain  strives; 
Its  arms  outstretched,  the  druid  wood 

Waits  with  its  benedicite; 
And  to  our  age's  drowsy  blood 

Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea.  2 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-4.  Over . . .  lay.  Periodic  or  loose  ?  Change  into 
the  prose  order. 

4.  builds .  .  .  Dreamland.  Express  this  aerial  thought  in  your  own  words. 
What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 

5-8.  Then  . .  .  dream.     Analyze  this  proposition. 

9,  10.  Not ...  lie.  Cite  the  passage  from  Wordsworth  (Intimations  of  Im- 
mortality) to  which  this  passage  is  an  allusion. 

12.  We  Sinais  climb.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

17-20.  Its  ...  sea.  Point  out  the  examples  of  personification  in  this  pas- 
sage. What  is  the  thought  expressed  in  lines  17,  18?  What  is  the  meaning 
of  "  age's  "  as  here  used  ? 

18.  benedicite  (Lat.),  literally,  be  thou  blessed:  hence,  a  blessing. 


VISION  OF  SIR  LA  UNFA L.  ^ 

3.  Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  earth  gives  us: 

The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives*  us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in ; 

At  the  devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold,  *s 

Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold; 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay: 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking; 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 

'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking.  30 

No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 

4.  And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune,  35 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers,  40 

And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers. 

5.  The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green,  45 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 21-32.  Earth  .  .  .  comer.  What  line  in  this  stanza 
is  in  antithesis  to  line  21  ? — What  specific  instances  are  given  of  the  general 
proposition  contained  in  line  21  ?  What  renders  these  instances  impressive? 
— By  what  synecdoche  does  the  author  indicate  a  fool's  reward? — What  is  the 
meaning  of  "  heaven  "  as  here  employed  ? — Explain  line  30,  and  state  with 
what  line  in  this  stanza  it  contrasts. 

33-36.  And  .  .  .  lays.  These  fine  lines  have  justly  taken  a  place  among  fa- 
miliar quotations.  On  what  is  the  figure  in  this  passage  founded  ? 

42.  Climbs  .  .  .  flowers.     Explain. 

46.  The  buttercup .  .  .  chalice.  What  is  the  figure  ?  Express  in  plain  lan- 
guage. 


582  LOWELL. 

6.  The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves,  50 

And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings ; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest :  ss 

In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature,  which  song  is  the  best  ? 

7.  Now  is  the  high  tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer, 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay;  60 

Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it ; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'Tis  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green. 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well  65 

How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  knowing 
That  the  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing. 

8.  The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear 

That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near,  70 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are  flowing, 
That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack;  »5 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 49-56.  The  . . .  best  ?  In  stanza  6  point  out  a  simile ; 
a  striking  epithet. — Explain  "deluge  of  summer." — What  human  application 
may  be  made  of  line  55  ? 

57-60.  Now . . .  bay.  What  is  the  basis  of  the  metaphor?  Follow  out  the 
details  of  the  application. 

57-68.  Now . . .  growing.  In  stanza  7  are  there  any  words  of  other  than 
Anglo-Saxon  origin  ? 

69-79.  The  breeze  . . .  crowing!  In  stanza  8  point  out  instances  of  personi- 
fication. 


VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL.  583 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing — 
And  hark  !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing ! 

9.  Joy  comes,  grief  goes,  we  know  not  how;  &> 

Everything  is  happy  now, 

Everything  is  upward  striving ; 
'Tis  as  easy  now  for  the  heart  to  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  to  be  blue — 

'Tis  the  natural  way  of  living.  «s 

10.  Who  knows  whither  the  clouds  have  fled? 

In  the  unscarred  heaven  they  leave  no  wake ; 
And  the  eyes  forget  the  tears  they  have  shed, 

The  heart  forgets  its  sorrow  and  ache ; 
The  soul  partakes  the  season's  youth,  9° 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 

Like  burned-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 
What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal  now 
Remembered  the  keeping  of  his  vow  ?  95 


PART   FIRST. 

"  My  golden  spurs  now  bring  to  me, 
And  bring  to  me  my  richest  mail, 

For  to-morrow  I  go  over  land  and  sea 
In  search  of  the  Holy  Grail ; 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 78.  Warmed  . . .  year.  What  kind  of  phrase,  and 
adjunct  to  what  word?  What  figure  of  speech  in  this  line? 

86,  87.  Who  .  . .  wake.  Which  subsequent  lines  express  subjectively  what 
these  express  objectively. — Explain  the  metaphor  in  line  87. 

91-93.  the  sulphurous  .  .  .  snow.  Point  out  the  simile,  show  how  it  illustrates 
the  thought,  and  state  from  what  the  sublimity  of  the  figure  arises. 

94,  95.  What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal . .  .  TOW  \  The  poet,  like  his  "  musing  or- 
ganist," has,  in  the  Prelude,  been  letting  "  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list." 
Now  the  theme  "  nearer  draws,"  and  is  formally  introduced  in  this  query. 
Let  the  pupil  carefully  re-read  the  Prelude,  and  state  in  his  own  language  the 
thought  in  stanza  2  ;  stanza  3  ;  stanzas  4-10.  In  these  the  poet,  like  the  mu- 
sician, strikes  his  fundamental  chords. 

97.  mail.     Explain. 


5g4  LOWELL. 

Shall  never  a  bed  for  me  be  spread,  100 

Nor  shall  a  pillow  be  under  my  head, 

Till  I  begin  my  vow  to  keep ; 

Here  on  the  rushes  will  I  sleep, 

And  perchance  there  may  come  a  vision  true 

Ere  day  create  the  world  anew."  *os 

Slowly  Sir  Launfal's  eyes  grew  dim, 

Slumber  fell  like  a  cloud  on  him, 
And  into  his  soul  the  vision  flew. 

2.  The  crows  flapped  over  by  twos  and  threes, 

In  the  pool  drowsed  the  cattle  up  to  their  knees,  no 

The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  were 

The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 
And  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  sing  on  the  trees ; 
The  castle  alone  in  the  landscape  lay 

Like  an  outpost  of  winter,  dull  and  gray;  u5 

'Twas  the  proudest  hall  in  the  North  Countree, 
And  never  its  gates  might  opened  be, 
Save  to  lord  or  lady  of  high  degree. 

3.  Summer  besieged  it  on  every  side, 

But  the  churlish  stone  her  assaults  defied ;  120 

She  could  not  scale  the  chilly  wall, 

Though  round  it  for  leagues  her  pavilions  tall 

Stretched  left  and  right, 

Over  the  hills  and  out  of  sight ; 

Green  and  broad  was  every  tent,  125 

And  out  of  each  a  murmur  went 
Till  the  breeze  fell  off  at  night. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 100.  Shall  never  a,  bed.     Arrange  in  the  direct  order. 

105.  Ere  day  create,  etc.     Express  this  periphrasis  in  a  single  word. 

109-118.  The  crows . . .  degree.  What  contrast  is  presented  in  this  stanza? 
^Point  out  a  picturesque  expression ;  a  fanciful  expression ;  a  striking  sim- 
ile. Show  the  propriety  of  the  term  "  outpost "  as  here  used. 

119.  Summer  besieged,  etc.  Show  how  the  thought  suggested  as  simile  in 
line  115  is  here  continued  as  metaphor. 

122-125.  ner  pavilions  tall . . .  every  tent.  Explain  these  expressions  as  here 
employed. 


VISION  OF  SIR  LA  UNFA L.  585 

4.  The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a  surly  clang, 
And  through  the  dark  arch  a  charger  sprang, 

Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight,  130 

In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 
Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its  wall 

In  his  siege  of  three  hundred  summers  long, 
And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf,  135 

Had  cast  them  forth  :  so,  young  and  strong, 
And  lightsome  as  a  locust-leaf, 
Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  unscarred  mail, 
To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail. 

5.  It  was  morning  on  hill  and  stream  and  tree,  I4o 

And  morning  in  the  young  knight's  heart: 
Only  the  castle  moodily 
Rebuffed  the  gifts  of  the  sunshine  free, 

And  gloomed  by  itself  apart ; 
The  season  brimmed  all  other  things  up  145 

Full  as  the  rain  fills  the  pitcher-plant's  cup. 

6.  As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate, 

He  was  'ware  of  a  leper,  crouched  by  the  same, 
Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he  sate ; 

And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came  :  150 

The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill, 

The  flesh  'neath  his  armor  'gan  shrink  and  crawl, 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall ; 

LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 128-139.  The  drawbridge  . . .  Grail.  Note  the  power- 
ful manner  in  which  the  narrative  is  managed :  the  mere  structure  of  the  lines 
suggests  a  rush  and  flash. — Point  out  the  element  of  hyperbole  in  this  stanza. 

140,  141.  It  was  morning.  .  .  heart.  In  which  line  is  "morning"  used  in  a 
literal, -in  which  in  a  figurative,  sense? — Change  the  metaphor  in  line  141  into 
a  simile. 

143-146.  Rebuffed  .  .  .  cup.  Is  "  Rebuffed  "  used  in  a  literal  or  in  a  figura- 
tive sense  ? — Remark  on  the  verbs  "  gloomed  "  and  "  brimmed." — Show  the 
felicity  of  the  simile.  § 

147.  made  morn.     Explain. 

148.  Point  out  an  unpleasantly  prosaic  phrase  in  this  line. 
151.  The  sunshine  went,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 
154.  Remark  on  the  simile. 


586  LOWELL. 

For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature,  155 

Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature, 

And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer  morn — 

So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 

7.  The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust  : 

"  Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust,  160 

Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door ; 
That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold ; 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty;  165 

But  he  who  gives  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight — 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite — 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms,  170 

The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms, 
For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  before." 


PRELUDE  TO  PART  SECOND. 

Down  swept  the  chill  wind  from  the  mountain  peak, 

From  the  snow  five  thousand  summers  old;  ,7S 

On  open  wold*  and  hill-top  bleak 
It  had  gathered  all  the  cold, 

And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's  cheek ; 

It  carried  a  shiver  everywhere 

From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare.  ,8o 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 159-173.  The  leper . . .  before.  Point  out  the  antith- 
esis in  this  stanza  ;  the  aphorisms.  —  Is  there  any  verb  to  which  "  he  "  (line 
166)  is  subject?  (Of  course,  as  "he  "  will  not  parse,  it  must  in  strict  gram- 
mar be  condemned  as  a  solecism.)  In  what  line  is  the  thought  brought  fully 
out  ? — Point  out  a  mitaphor  in  this  stanza. 

I74-239-  To  what  is  the  Prelude  to  Part  Second  a  companion  piece  ?  Re- 
mark on  the  two. 

174-180.  Down  . . .  bare.  Point  out  an  instance  of  synecdoche  in  this  stanza. 
—Etymology  of  "  wold  "  (176)  ? 


VISION  OF  SIR  LA  UNFA L.  587 

2.  The  little  brook  heard  it  and  built  a  roof 
'Neath  which  he  could  house  him,  winter-proof; 
All  night  by  the  white  stars'  frosty  gleams 

He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams; 

Slender  and  clear  were  his  crystal  spars  *s5 

As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars ; 

He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 

In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight. 

3.  Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipt 

Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest-crypt,  190 

Long  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 

Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze ; 

Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretwork  knew 

But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew ; 

Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief  i95 

With  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf; 

Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 

For  the  gladness  of  heaven  to  shine  through,  and  here 

He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 

And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond  drops,  2oo 

That  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun, 

And  made  a  star  of  every  one. 

4.  No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 
Could  match  this  winter-palace  of  ice; 

'Twas  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay  205 

In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 
Each  fleeting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky, 

Lest  the  happy  model  should  be  lost, 
Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 

By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost.  2IO 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  181-210.  The  little  brook  . . .  frost.  The  narrative 
description  in  these  stanzas  presents  a  good  example  of  an  exercise  of  fancy, 
as  contrasted  with  a  work  of  imagination.  Select  what  you  deem  the  most 
graceful  strokes  of  fancy ;  the  most  picturesque  epithets  or  expressions. — Ex- 
plain "crypt"  (190);  "relief"  (195) ;  "arabesques"  (196). 

184.  groined.    Quote  Emerson's  use  of  this  verb  in  the  poem  of  The  Problem. 


s88  LOWELL. 

5.  Within  the  hall  are  song  and  laughter, 

The  cheeks  of  Christmas  grow  red  and  jolly, 
And  sprouting  is  every  corbel  and  rafter 

With  lightsome  green  of  ivy  and  holly; 

Through  the  deep  gulf  of  the  chimney  wide  215 

Wallows  the  Yule*-log's  roaring  tide; 
The  broad  flame-pennons  droop  and  flap 

And  belly  and  tug  as  a  flag  in  the  wind; 
Like  a  locust  shrills  the  imprisoned  sap, 

Hunted  to  death  in  its  galleries  blind ;  220 

And  swift  little  troops  of  silent  sparks, 

Now  pausing,  now  scattering  away  as  in  fear. 
Go  threading  the  soot-forest's  tangled  darks 

Like  herds  of  startled  deer. 

6.  But  the  wind  without  was  eager  and  sharp,  225 
Of  Sir  Launfal's  gray  hair  it  makes  a  harp, 

And  rattles  and  wrings 

The  icy  strings, . 
Singing,  in  dreary  monotone, 

A  Christmas  carol  of  its  own,  230 

WThose  burden  still,  as  he  might  guess, 
Was — "  Shelterless,  shelterless,  shelterless  !" 

7.  The  voice  of  the  seneschal*  flared  like  a  torch 
As  he  shouted  the  wanderer  away  from  the  porch, 

And  he  sat  in  the  gateway  and  saw  all  night  235 

The  great  hall-fire,  so  cheery  and  bold, 
Through  the  window-slits  of  the  castle  old, 

Build  out  its  piers  of  ruddy  light 
Against  the  drift  of  the  cold. 

L.TERARY  ANALYSIS. — 211-224.  Within deer.  How  is  the  picture  of 

winter  dreariness  in  lines  174-180  intensified  by  the  picture  in  stanza  5  ?— 
Point  out  a  personification;  a  simile. — Explain  "corbel"  (213);  "Yule" 
(216).— .What  is  meant  by  "the  soot-forest's  tangled  darks"  (223)? 

225-232.  But ...  shelterless !  What,  again,  is  the  effect  of  the  juxtaposition 
of  the  pictures  in  stanzas  5  and  6  ? — Point  out  a  metaphor  in  stanza  6,  and 
state  what  you  think  of  it  as  a  figure. 

233.  flared  like  a  torch.  State  your  opinion  of  the  propriety  of  this  as  a 
predicate  to  "  voice." 

233-239-  The  Toice  .  . .  cold.     Point  out  a  striking  predicate  in  stanza  7. 


VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL. 


PART  SECOND. 


589 


1.  There  was  never  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree,  240 
The  bare  boughs  rattled  shudderingly; 

The  river  was  numb  and  could  not  speak, 
For  the  weaver  Winter  its  shroud  had  spun ; 

A  single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 

From  his  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold  sun ;  245 

Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold, 

As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old, 

And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 

For  a  last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 

2.  Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate,  250 
For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate ; 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Little  he  recked*  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross,  255 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore, 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 

3.  Sir  LaunfaPs  raiment  thin  and  spare 
Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time;  260 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 

In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long  ago : 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 

O'er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small,  265 

Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one, 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 240.  nerer.     Grammatical  construction  ? 
243.  For  .  .  .  spun.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
247-249.  As  ...  sea.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
250.  hard  gate.     Explain. 
259.  idle  mail.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

264-272.  He  sees  .  .  .  palms.     Enumerate  the  details  of  the  picture. — Specify 
any  word  used  in  a  figurative  sense. — Explain  line  271. 


590  LOWELL. 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 

To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass, 

The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade,  270 

And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 

And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 

4.  "  For  Christ's  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms:" — 
The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 

But  Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing,  27S 

The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone 
That  cowers  beside  him — a  thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas — 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

5.  And  Sir  Launfal  said,  "  I  behold  in  thee  280 
An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree; 

Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns, 

Thou  also  hast  had  the  world's  buffets  and  scorns, 

And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 

The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side :  285 

Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me; 

Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  thee !" 

6.  Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 

And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise  290 

He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 
When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust; 
He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust,  295 

He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink, 
And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink  : 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 273-279.  For ...  disease.     Who  speaks  in  line  273 
— Point  out  a  powerful  simile  in  this  stanza. 

288-297.  Then  . . .  drink.  Explain  line  288.— By  what  figure  of  speech  is 
"leprosie"  used  for  the  leper?  Translate  into  plain  language  the  figurative 
expression  "  girt  his  young  life  up  "  (292). 


VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL. 


591 


'Twas  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

'Twas  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl — 
Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed,  300 

And  'twas  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty  soul. 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 

A  light  shone  round  about  the  place ; 

The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 

But  stood  before  him  glorified,  305 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 

Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the  pine,       310 

And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the  brine, 

Which  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 

With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon ; 

And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence  said, 

"Lo  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid  !  315 

In  many  climes,  without  avail, 

Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Behold  it  is  here — this  cup  which  thou 

Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now; 

This  crust  is  my  body  broken  for  thee,  320 

This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed, 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need ; 

Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share — 

For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare ;  325 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three — 

Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  me." 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  — 298-301.  'Twas  . . .  soul.  Point  out  the  paradox, 
and  reconcile  the  statements. 

302-314.  As  ...  said.  In  stanza  7  point  out  a  simile ;  a  metaphor. — Explain 
the  allusion  in  the  "Beautiful  Gate"  (307).— For  what  word  is  "brine"  (311) 
used  by  synecdoche  ? 

315-327.  Point  out  the  two  noblest  lines  in  stanza  8. 


592  LOWELL. 

9.  Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a  swound: — 
"  The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found ! 
Hang  my  idle  armor  up  on  the  wall,  330 

Let  it  be  the  spider's  banquet-hall ; 
He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail." 

10.  The  castle  gate  stands  open  now, 

And  the  wanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall  335 

As  the  hang-bird  is  to  the  elm-tree  bough ; 

No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall, 
The  summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er; 
When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door, 
She  entered  with  him  in  disguise,  340 

And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise : 
There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  well  on  ground, 
She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year  round, 
The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal's  land 
Has  hall  and  bower  at  his  command;  345 

And  there's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 
But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —334-347.  The  castle  ...  he.     Paraphrase  the  last 
stanza. 


XXXIX. 

GEORGE   ELIOT   (MRS.  G.  H.  LEWES). 
1820-1880. 


CHARACTERIZATION  BY  R.  H.  HUTTON. 

1.  The  great  authoress  who  calls  herself  George  Eliot  is  chiefly 
known,  and  no  doubt  deserves  to  be  chiefly  known,  as  a  novelist, 
but  she  is  certainly  much  more  than  a  novelist  in  the  sense  in 
which  that  word  applies  even  to  writers  of  great  genius — to  Miss 
Austen  or  Mr.  Trollope ;  nay,  much  more  than  a  novelist  in  the 
sense  in  which  that  word   applies  to  Miss  Bronte,  or  even  to 
Thackeray;  though  it  is  of  course  true,  in  relation  to  all  these 
writers,  that,  besides  being  much  more,  she  is  also  and  neces- 
sarily not  so  much. 

2.  What  is  remarkable  in  George  Eliot  is  the  striking  com- 
bination in  her  of  very  deep  speculative  power  with  a  very  great 
and  realistic  imagination.      It  is  rare  to  find  an   intellect  so 
skilled  in  the  analysis  of  the  deepest  psychological  problems,  so 
completely  at  home  in  the  conception  and  delineation  of  real 
characters.     George  Eliot  discusses  the  practical  influences  act- 
ing on  men  and  women,  I  do  not  say  with  the  ease  of  Fielding — 
for  there  is  a  touch  of  carefulness,  often  of  over-carefulness,  in 
all  she  does — but  with  much  of  his  breadth  and  spaciousness ; 
the   breadth  and  spaciousness,  one  must  remember,  of  a  man 
who  had  seen  London  life  in  the  capacity  of  a  London  police 
magistrate.     Nay,  her  imagination  has,  I  do  not  say  of  course 
the  fertility,  but  something  of  the  range  and  the  delight  in  rich 
historic  coloring,  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  ;  while  it  combines  with  it 
something  too  of  the  pleasure  in  ordered  learning,  and  the  labori- 
ous marshalling  of  the  picturesque  results  of  learning  which  gives 
the  flavor  of  scholastic  pride  to  the  great  genius  of  Milton.  .  .  . 

38 


594  ELIOT. 

3.  George  Eliot's  genial,  broad  delineations  of  human  life  have, 
as  I  said  just  now,  more  perhaps  of  the  breadth  of  Fielding  than 
of  any  of  the  manners-painters  of  the  present  day.     For  these 
imagine  life  only  as  it  appears  in  a  certain  dress  and  sphere, 
which  are  a  kind  of  artificial  medium  for  their  art — life  as  af- 
fected by  drawing-rooms.    George  Eliot  has  little,  if  any,  of  their 
capacity  for  catching  the  undertones  and  allusive  complexity  of 
this  sort  of  society.     She  has,  however,  observed  the  phases  of  a 
more  natural  and  straightforward  class  of  life,  and  she  draws  her 
external  world  as  much  as  possible  from  observation — though 
some  of  her  Florentine  pictures  must  have  been  suggested  more 
by  literary  study  than  by  personal  experience — instead  of  imag- 
ining it,  like  Miss  Bronte,  out  of  the  heart  of  the  characters  she 
wishes  to  paint.  .  .  . 

4.  Another  element  in  which  George  Eliot  shows  the  mascu- 
line breadth  and  strength  of  her  genius  adds  less  to  the  charm 
of  her  tales, — I  mean  the  shrewdness  and  miscellaneous  range 
of  her  observations  on  life.      Nothing  is  rarer  than  to  see  in 
women's  writings  that  kind  of  strong  acute  generalization  which 
Fielding  introduced  so  freely.     Yet  the  miscellaneous  observa- 
tions in  which  George  Eliot  so  often  indulges  us,  after  the  fash- 
ion of  the  day,  are  not  always  well  suited  to  the  particular  bent 
of  her  genius ;   indeed,  they  often  break  the  spell  which  that 
genius  has  laid  upon  her  readers.     She  is  not  a  satirist,  and  she 
half  adopts  the  style  of  a  satirist  in  these  elements  of  her  books. 
The  influence  of  Thackeray  had  at  first  a  distinctly  bad  effect 
on  her  genius,  but  in  Silas  Marner  that  influence  began  to  wane, 
and  quite  disappeared  in  Romola,  though  I  think  it  reappeared 
a  little  in  Felix  Holt.    A  powerful  and  direct  style  of  portraiture 
is  in  ill-keeping  with  that  flavor  of  sarcastic  innuendo  in  which 
Thackeray  delighted.     It  jars  upon  the  ear  in  the  midst  of  the 
simple  and  faithful  delineations  of  human  nature  as  it  really  is, 
with  which  George  Eliot  fills  her  books.     It  was  all  very  well 
for  Thackeray,  who  made  it  his  main  aim  and  business  to  expose 
the  hollowness  and  insincerities  of  human  society,  to  add  his 
own  keen  comment  to  his  own  one-sided  picture.     But  then  it 
was  of  the  essence  of  his  genius  to  lay  bare  unrealities,  and 
leave  the  sound  life  almost  untouched.     It  was  rather  a  relief 
than  otherwise  to  see  him  playing  with  his  dissecting-knife  after 


HUTTOWS  CHARACTERIZATION  OF  ELIOT.  595 

one  of  his  keenest  probing  feats  ;  you  understand  better  how 
limited  his  purpose  is — that  he  has  been  in  search  of  organic 
disease — and  you  are  not  surprised,  therefore,  to  find  that  he  has 
found  little  that  was  healthy. 

5.  The  artistic  conditions  under  which  George  Eliot  works  are, 
when  she  chooses,  singularly  favorable  to  the  exhibition  of  the 
only  kind  of  "moral  "  which  a  genuine  artist  should  admit.     No 
one  now  ever  thinks  of  assuming  that  a  writer  of  fiction  lies 
under  any  obligation  to  dispose  of  bis  characters  exactly  as  he 
would  perhaps  feel  inclined  to  do  if  he  could  determine  for  them 
the  circumstances  of  a  real  instead  of  an  imaginary  life.     It  was 
a  quaint  idea  of  the  last  generation  to  suppose  that  the  moral 
tendency  of  a  tale  lay,  not  in  discriminating  evil  and  good,  but 
in  the  zeal  which  induced  the  novelist  to  provide,  before  the  end 
of  the  third  volume,  for  plucking  up  and  burning  the  tares.    But, 
though  we  have  got  over  that  notion,  our  modern  satirists  are 
leading  us  into  the  opposite  extreme,  and  trying  to  convince  us 
that  even  discrimination  itself,  in  such  deep  matters,  is  nearly 
impossible.    The  author  of  the  Mill  on  the  Floss  is  hardly  exempt 
from  this  tendency,  but  in  Adam  Bede  it  is  not  discernible. 

6.  The  only  moral  in  a  fictitious  story  which  can  properly  be 
demanded  of  writers  of  genius  is,  not  to  shape  their  tale  this 
way  or  that — which  they  may  justly  decline  to  do  on  artistic 
grounds — but  to  discriminate  clearly  the  relative  nobility  of  the 
characters  they  do  conceive ;    in  other  words,  to  give  us  light 
enough  in  their  pictures  to  let  it  be  clearly  seen  where  the  shad- 
ows are  intended  to  lie.    An  artist  who  leaves  it  doubtful  whether 
he  recognizes  the  distinction  between  good  and  evil  at  all,  or 
who  detects  in  all  his  characters  so  much  evil  that  the  readers' 
sympathies  must  either  be  entirely  passive  or  side  with  what  is 
evil,  is  blind  to  artistic  as  well  as  moral  laws.     To  banish  con- 
fusion from  a  picture  is  the  first  duty  of  the  artist,  and  confu- 
sion must  exist  where  those  lines  which  are  the  most  essential 
of  all  for  determining  the  configuration  of  human  character  are 
invisible  or   indistinctly  drawn.     Moreover,  I  think  it  may  be 
said  that  in  painting  human  nature  an  artist  is  bound  to  give 
due  weight  to  the  motives  which  would  claim  authority  over  him 
in  other  acts  of  his  life ;  and  as  he  would  be  bound  at  any  time 
and  in  any  place  to  do  anything  in  his  power  to  make  clear  the 


595 

relation  between  good  and  evil,  the  same  motive  ought  to  induce 
him  never  to  omit  in  his  drawing  to  put  in  a  light  or  a  shadow 
which  would  add  to  the  moral  truthfulness  of  the  picture. 


FROM   ROMOLA. 

[INTRODUCTION.  —  The  following  is  an  extract  from  Romola,  the  most 
scholarly  of  George  Eliot's  novels.  It  finely  depicts  the  internal  conflicts  and 
gradual  yielding  to  temptation  of  a  pleasure-loving,  vacillating,  but  in  some  re- 
spects  not  unamiable  nature.] 

Tito  was  thus  sailing  under  the  fairest  breeze,  and,  besides 
convincing  fair  judges  that  his  talents*  squared  with  his  good 
fortune,  he  wore  that  fortune  so  easily  and  unpretentiously  that 
no  one  had  yet  been  offended  by  it.  He  was  not  unlikely  to  get 
into  the  best  Florentine  society — society  where  there  was  much  s 
more  plate  than  the  circle  of  enamelled  silver  in  the  centre  of 
the  brass  dishes,  and  where  it  was  not  forbidden  by  the  signory* 
to  wear  the  richest  brocade.  For  where  could  a  handsome 
young  scholar  not  be  welcome  when  he  could  touch  the  lute  and 
troll  a  gay  song  ?  That  bright  face,  that  easy  smile,  that  liquid  10 
voice,  seemed  to  give  life  a  holiday  aspect ;  just  as  a  strain  of 
gay  music  and  the  hoisting  of  colors  make  the  work-worn  and 
the  sad  rather  ashamed  of  showing  themselves.  Here  was  a 
professor  likely  to  render  the  Greek  classics  amiable  to  the  sons 
of  great  houses.  15 

And  that  was  not  the  whole  of  Tito's  good  fortune ;  for  he 
had  sold  all  his  jewels,  except  the  ring  he  did  not  choose  to  part 
with,  and  he  was  master  of  full  five  hundred  gold  florins.* 

Yet  the  moment  when  he  first  had  this  sum  in  his  possession 
was  the  crisis  of  the  first  serious  struggle  his  facile,  good-hu-20 
mored  nature  had  known.     An  importunate  thought,  of  which 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-15.  Tito. .  .  houses.  In  this  paragraph  point  out 
three  metaphors  and  a  simile. — What  is  meant  by  "  his  talents  squared  with 
his  good  fortune  ?" — Change  the  third  sentence  from  the  interrogative  to  the 
declarative  form.  Which  is  the  more  effective  ? 

21-26.  An  importunate  ...  consequences.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 
Show  how  the  metaphor  is  carried  out. — Substitute  a  single  adjective  for  the 
clause  "  that  must  carry  irrevocable  consequences." 


FROM  ROMOLA.  597 

he  had  till  now  refused  to  see  more  than  the  shadow  as  it 
dogged  his  footsteps,  at  last  rushed  upon  him  and  grasped  him  : 
he  was  obliged  to  pause  and  decide  whether  he  would  surrender 
and  obey,  or  whether  he  would  give  the  refusal  that  must  carry  25 
irrevocable  consequences.  It  was  in  the  room  above  Nello's 
shop,  which  Tito  had  now  hired  as  a  lodging,  that  the  elder  Cen- 
nini  handed  him  the  last  quota1*  of  the  sum  on  behalf  of  Ber- 
nardo Rucellai,  the  purchaser  of  the  Cleopatra. 

****** 

As  Cennini  closed  the  door  behind  him,  Tito  turned  round  30 
with  the  smile  dying  out  of  his  face,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
table  where  the  florins  lay.  He  made  no  other  movement,  but 
stood  with  his  thumbs  in  his  belt  looking  down,  in  that  trans- 
fixed state  which  accompanies  the  concentration  of  conscious- 
ness on  some  inward  image.  35 

"  A  man's  ransom  !" — who  was  it  that  had  said  five  hundred 
florins  was  more  than  a  man's  ranspm  ?  If  now,  under  this  mid- 
day sun,  on  some  hot  coast  far  away,  a  man  somewhat  stricken 
in  years — a  man  not  without  high  thoughts  and  with  the  most 
passionate  heart  \  a  man  who,  long  years  ago,  had  rescued  a  lit-  40 
tie  boy  from  a  life  of  beggary,  filth,  and  cruel  wrong,  had  reared 
him  tenderly,  and  been  to  him  as  a  father — if  that  man  were 
now  under  this  summer  sun  toiling  as  a  slave,  hewing  wood  and 
drawing  water,  perhaps  being  smitten  and  buffeted  because  he 
was  not  deft  and  active — if  he  were  saying  to  himself,  "Tito 45 
will  find  me :  he  had  but  to  carry  our  manuscripts  and  gems  to 
Venice ;  he  will  have  raised  money,  and  will  never  rest  till  he 
finds  me  out  ?"  If  that  were  certain,  could  he,  Tito,  see  the 
price  of  the  gems  lying  before  him  and  say,  "  I  will  stay  at  Flor- 
ence, where  I  am  fanned  by  soft  airs  of  promised  love  and  pros-  so 
perity  :  I  will  not  risk  myself  for  his  sake  ?"  No,  surely  not,  if 
it  were  certain.  But  nothing  could  be  farther  from  certainty. 
The  galley  had  been  taken  by  a  Turkish  vessel  on  its  way  to 
Delos  :  that  was  known  by  the  report  of  the  companion  galley, 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 30-32.  As ...  lay.  What  felicitous  phrase  in  this 
sentence  ? 

37-51.  If  mm  .  .  .  sake!  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?  Rhetori- 
cally ?  Analyze  this  sentence. 


598 

which  had  escaped.     But  there  had  been  resistance,  and  prob-  ss 
able  bloodshed ;  a  man  had  been  seen  falling  overboard :  who 
were  the  survivors,  and  what  had  befallen  them  among  all  the 
multitude   of   possibilities?     Had   not  he,  Tito,   suffered   ship- 
wreck, and  narrowly  escaped  drowning?     He  had  good  cause 
for  feeling  the  omnipresence  of  casualties  that  threatened  all  60 
projects  with  futility.     The  rumor  that  there  were  pirates  who 
had  a  settlement  in  Delos  was  not  to  be  depended  on,  or  might 
be  nothing  to  the  purpose.     What,  probably  enough,  would  be 
the  result  if  he  were  to  quit  Florence  and  go  to  Venice  •  get  au- 
thoritative letters — yes,  he  knew  that  might  be  done — and  set  65 
out  for  the   Archipelago  ?     Why,  that  he   should  be   himself 
seized,  and  spend  all  his  florins  on  preliminaries,  and  be  again  a 
destitute  wanderer — with  no  more  gems  to  sell. 

Tito  had  a  clearer  vision  of  that  result  than  of  the  possible 
moment  when  he  might  find  his  father  again,  and  carry  him  de-  7° 
liverance.     It  would  surely  be  an  unfairness  that  he,  in  his  full 
ripe  youth,  to  whom  life  had  hitherto  had  some  of  the  stint  and 
subjection  of  a  school,  should  turn  his  back  on  promised  love    . 
and  distinction,  and  perhaps  never  be  visited  by  that  promise 
again.     "And  yet,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if  I  were  certain — yes,  75 
if  I  were  certain  that  Baldassarre  Calvo  was  alive,  and  that  I 
could  free  him,  by  whatever  exertions  or  perils,  I  would  go  now 
— now  I  have  the  money :  it  was  useless  to  debate  the  matter 
•before.     I  would  go  now  to  Bardo  and  Bartolommeo  Scala  and 
tell  them  the  whole  truth."     Tito  did  not  say  to  himself  so  dis-8o 
tinctly  that  if  those  two  men  had  known  the  whole  truth  he  was 
aware  there  would  have  been  no  alternative  for  him  but  to  go  in 
search  of  his  benefactor,  who,  if  alive,  was  the  rightful  owner  of 
the  gems,  and  whom  he  had  always  equivocally  spoken  of  as 
"  lost ;"  he  did  not  say  to  himself,  what  he  was  not  ignorant  of,  ss 
that  Greeks  of  distinction  had  made  sacrifices,  taken  voyages 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 59-61.  Substitute  synonyms  for  the  following  itali- 
cized words :  "  He  had  good  cause  for  feeling  the  omnipresence  of  casualties 
that  threatened all  projects  \i\\h.  futility  " 

69-89.  Tito  .  . .  rirtue.  This  paragraph,  with  the  preceding  and  several  sub- 
sequent paragraphs,  illustrates  the  tendency  of  George  Eliot  to  subjective  nar- 
ration (see  Def.  7, 1  and  ii).  She  frequently,  as  here,  allows  action  to  cease 
while  she  dissects  character,  and  lays  bare  hidden  motives. 


FROM  ROMOLA. 


599 


again  and  again,  and  sought  help  from  crowned  and  mitred 
heads  tor  the  sake  of  freeing  relatives  from  slavery  to  the  Turks. 
Public  opinion  did  not  regard  that  as  an  exceptional  virtue. 

This  was  his  first  real  colloqr.y  with  himself :  he  had  gone  on  90 
following  the  impulses  of  the  moment,  and  one  of  those  impulses 
had  been  to  conceal  half  the  fact :  he  had  never  considered  this 
part  of  his  conduct  long  enough  to  face  the  consciousness  of  his 
motives  for  the  concealment.     What  was  the  use  of  telling  the 
whole  ?     It  was  true,  the  thought  had  crossed  his  mind  several  95 
times  since  he  had  quitted  Nauplia  that,  after  all,  it  was  a  great 
relief  to  be  quit  of  Baldassarre,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  know 
who  it  was  that  had  fallen  overboard.     But  such  thoughts  spring 
inevitably  out  of  a  relation  that  is  irksome.*     Baldassarre  was 
exacting,  and  had  got  stranger  as  he  got  older :  he  was  con- 100 
stantly  scrutinizing  Tito's  mind  to  see  whether  it  answered  to 
his  own  exaggerated  expectations  ;  and  age — the  age  of  a  thick- 
set, heavy-browed,  bald  man  beyond  sixty,  whose  intensity  and 
eagerness  in  the  grasp  of  ideas  have  long  taken  the  character 
of  monotony  and  repetition — may  be  looked  at  from  many  points  105 
of  view  without  being  found  attractive.     Such  a  man,  stranded 
among  new  acquaintances,  unless  he  had  the  philosopher's  stone, 
would  hardly  find  rank,  youth,  and  beauty  at  his  feet.     The  feel- 
ings that  gather  fervor  from  novelty  will  be  of  little  help  towards 
making  the  world  a  home  for  dimmed  and  faded  human  beings ;  no 
and  if  there  is  any  love  of  which  they  are  not  widowed,  it  must 
be  the  love  that  is  rooted  in  memories  and  distils  perpetually 
the  sweet  balms  of  fidelity  and  forbearing  tenderness. 

But  surely  such  memories  were  not  absent  from  Tito's  mind  ? 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 87,  88.  crowned  and  mitred  headg.  What  is  the  fig- 
ure of  speech?  Change  into  plain  language. 

90-94.  This  . . .  concealment.  Break  up  into  two  sentences,  uniting  by  a  con- 
nective the  last  two  members  in  one  sentence. 

100.  had  got  stranger  as  he  got  older.     Query  as  to  the  diction. 

106-108.  Such  . . .  feet.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ?  Change  into 
the  direct  order.  What  word  in  this  sentence  is  used  figuratively  ? 

108-113.  The  feelings ...  tenderness.  Express  this  sentence  in  your  own 
words.  Point  out  a  word  used  metaphorically. 


6oo  ELIOT. 

Far  in  the  backward  vista*  of  his  remembered  life,  when  he  was  "s 
only  seven  years  old,  Baldassarre  had  rescued  him  from  blows, 
had  taken  him  to  a  home  that  seemed  like  opened  Paradise, 
where  there  was  sweet  food  and  soothing  caresses,  all  had  on 
Baldassarre's  knee;  and  from  that  time  till  the  hour  they  had 
parted  Tito  had  been  the  one  centre  of  Baldassarre's  fatherly  120 
cares. 

Well,  he  had  been  docile,  pliable,  quick  of  apprehension,  ready 
to  acquire  :  a  very  bright,  lovely  boy ;  a  youth  of  even  splendid 
grace,  who  seemed  quite  without  vices,  as  if  that  beautiful  form 
represented  a  vitality  so  exquisitely  poised  and  balanced  that  it  "5 
could  know  no  uneasy  desires,  no  unrest — a  radiant  presence 
for  a  lonely  man  to  have  won  for  himself.  If  he  were  silent 
when  his  father  expected  some  response,  still  he  did  not  look 
moody;  if  he  declined  some  labor — why,  he  flung  himself  down 
with  such  a  charming,  half  -  smiling,  half -pleading  air  that  the  130 
pleasure  of  looking  at  him  made  amends  to  one  who  had  watch- 
ed his  growth  with  a  sense  of  claim  and  possession  :  the  curves 
of  Tito's  mouth  had  ineffable  good-humor  in  them.  And  then 
the  quick  talent,  to  which  everything  came  readily,  from  philo- 
sophic systems  to  the  rhymes  of  a  street  ballad  caught  up  at  a  '35 
hearing !  Would  any  one  have  said  that  Tito  had  not  made  due 
return  to  his  benefactor,  or  that  his  gratitude  and  affection  would 
fail  on  any  great  demand  ?  He  did  not  admit  that  his  gratitude 
had  failed ;  but  it  was  not  certain  that  Baldassarre  was  in  slav- 
ery, not  certain  that  he  was  living.  i40 

"  Do  I  not  owe  something  to  myself  ?"  said  Tito,  inwardly, 
with  a  slight  movement  of  his  shoulders,  the  first  he  had  made 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 115-121.  Far ...  cares.  What  adverbial  phrase  and 
clause  modify  "had  rescued?" — What  simile  in  this  sentence? — Grammatical 
construction  of  "  had  "  (i  18)  ? 

122,  123.  docile  .  .  .  acquire.  Discriminate  between  " docile "  and  "pliable." 
Is  there  any  difference  of  meaning  between  "  quick  of  apprehension "  and 
"  ready  to  acquire  ?"  May  a  charge  of  tautology  here  be  justly  made  ? 

124.  as  if.     Query  as  to  this  collocation  of  words. 

127-133.  if . .  .  them.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 

133~136-  And  ...  hearing !  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?  Express 
the  meaning  in  full. 

138-146.  He  ...  dead.  State  in  your  own  words  the  sophism  by  which  Tito 
imposed  on  himself. 


FROM  ROMOLA.  60 1 

since  he  had  turned  to  look  down  at  the  florins.  "  Before  I  quit 
everything,  and  incur  again  all  the  risks  of  which  I  am  even  now 
weary,  I  must  at  least  have  a  reasonable  hope.  Am  I  to  spend  145 
my  life  in  a  wandering  search?  I  believe  he  is  dead.  Cennini 
was  right  about  my  florins :  I  will  place  them  in  his  hands  to- 
morrow." 

When,  the  next  morning,  Tito  put  this  determination  into  act, 
he  had  chosen  his  color  in  the  game,  and  had  given  an  inevita- 150 
ble  bent  to  his  wishes.  He  had  made  it  impossible  that  he 
should  not  from  henceforth  desire  it  to  be  the  truth  that  his  fa- 
ther was  dead;  impossible  that  he  should  not  be  tempted  to 
baseness  rather  than  that  the  precise  facts  of  his  conduct  should 
not  remain  forever  concealed.  155 

Under  every  guilty  secret  there  is  hidden  a  brood  of  guilty 
wishes,  whose  unwholesome  infecting  life  is  cherished  by  the 
darkness.  The  contaminating  effect  of  deeds  often  lies  less  in 
the  commission*  than  in  the  consequent  adjustment  of  our  de- 
sires— the  enlistment  of  our  self-interest  on  the  side  of  falsity ;  160 
as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  purifying  influence  of  public  confes- 
sion springs  from  the  fact  that  by  it  the  hope  in  lies  is  forever 
swept  away,  and  the  soul  recovers  the  noble  attitude  of  sim- 
plicity. 

Besides,  in  this  first  distinct  colloquy  with  himself  the  ideas  165 
which  had  previously  been  scattered  and  interrupted  had  now 
concentrated  themselves :  the  little  rills  of  selfishness  had  united 
and  made  a  channel,  so  that  they  could  never  again  meet  with 
the  same  resistance.     Hitherto  Tito  had  left  in  vague  indecision 
the  question  whether,  with  the  means  in  his  power,  he  would  not  i/o 
return,  and  ascertain  his  father's  fate ;  he  had  now  made  a  defi- 
nite excuse  to  himself  for  not  taking  that  course ;  he  had  avow- 
ed to  himself  a  choice  which  he  would  have  been  ashamed  to 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 150.  had  chosen  his  color  in  the  game.  What  is  the 
figure  of  speech  ?  On  what  is  the  metaphor  founded  ? 

151-155.  He  ...  concealed.  Of  what  previous  general  statement  is  this  the 
specific  expression?  Query  as  to  "from  henceforth." 

156-164.  Under ...  simplicity.  Change  into  a  less  metaphysical  form  of 
statement. — On  what  is  the  metaphor  implied  in  "brood"  founded? — Is  there 
any  distinction  between  "  infecting  "  and  "  contaminating  ?" 

167.  the  little  rills,  etc.     How  is  the  figure  carried  out  ? 


602  ELIOT. 

avow  to  others,  and  which  would  have  made  him  ashamed  in  the 
resurgent  presence  of  his  father.     But  the  inward  shame,  the  re- 175 
flex  of  that  outward  law  which  the  great  heart  of  mankind  makes 
for  every  individual  man — a  reflex  which  will  exist  even  in  the 
absence  of  the  sympathetic  impulses  that  need  no  law,  but  rush 
to  the  deed  of  fidelity  and  pity  as  inevitably  as  the  brute  mother 
shields  her  young  from  the  attack  of  the  hereditary*  enemy — 180 
that  inward  shame  was  showing  its  blushes  in  Tito's  determined 
assertion  to  himself  that  his  father  was  dead,  or  that  at  least 
search  was  hopeless. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Just  as  Tito  reached  the  Ponte  Vecchio  and  the  entrance  of 
the  Via  de'  Bardi,  he  was  suddenly  urged  back  towards  the  angle  185 
of  the  intersecting  streets.     A  company  on  horseback,  coming 
from  the  Via  Guicciardini,  and  turning  up  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  had 
compelled  the  foot-passengers  to  recede  hurriedly.     Tito  had 
been  walking,  as  his  manner  was,  with  the  thumb  of  his  right 
hand  resting  in  his  belt ;  and  as  he  was  thus  forced  to  pause,  190 
and  was  looking  carelessly  at  the  passing  cavaliers,*  he  felt  a 
very  thin  cold  hand  laid  on  his.     He  started  round,  and  saw  the 
Dominican  friar  whose  upturned  face  had  so  struck  him  in  the 
morning.     Seen  closer,  the  face  looked  more  evidently  worn  by 
sickness,  and  not  by  age  ;  and  again  it  brought  some  strong  but  195 
indefinite  reminiscences  to  Tito. 

"  Pardon  me,  but — from  your  face  and  your  ring,"  said  the 
friar,  in  a  faint  voice — "  is  not  your  name  Tito  Melema  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tito,  also  speaking  faintly,  doubly  jarred  by  the 
cold  touch  and  the  mystery.     He  was  not  apprehensive  or  timid  200 
through  his  imagination,  but  through  his  sensations  and  percep- 
tions he  could  easily  be  made  to  shrink  and  turn  pale  like  a 
maiden. 

"Then  I  shall  fulfil  my  commission."* 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 175.  resurgent  presence.     Explain. 

181.  showing  its  blushes.     Express  in  plain  terms. 

191.  cavaliers.     Etymology  ? 

200-204.  He  ...  commission.  Discriminate  between  "  apprehensive  "  and 
"  timid  ;"  between  "  sensation  "  and  "  perception ;"  between  "  commission  " 
(204)  and  "commission"  (159). 


FROM  ROMOLA. 


603 


The  friar  put  his  hand  under  his  scapulary,  and,  drawing  out  a  205 
small  linen  bag  which  hung  round  his  neck,  took  from  it  a  bit 
of  parchment,  doubled  and  stuck  firmly  together  with  some  black 
adhesive  substance,  and  placed  it  in  Tito's  hand.     On  the  out- 
side was  written,  in  Italian,  in  a  small  but  distinct  character — 

"Tito  Melema,  aged  twenty-three,  with  a  dark,  beautiful  face,  long  no 
dark  curls,  the  brightest  smile,  and  a  large  onyx  ring  on  his  right 
forefinger.'1'' 

Tito  did  not  look  at  the  friar,  but  tremblingly  broke  open  the 
bit  of  parchment.  Inside,  the  words  were  : 

"I  am  sold  for  a  slave :  I  think  they  are  going  to  take  me  to  Anti-  215 
och.     The  gems  alone  will  serve  to  ransom  me" 

Tito  looked  round  at  the  friar,  but  could  only  ask  a  question 
with  his  eyes. 

"  I  had  it  at  Corinth,"  the  friar  said,  speaking  with  difficulty, 
like  one  whose  small  strength  had  been  sorely  taxed — "  I  had  it  230 
from  a  man  who  was  dying." 

"  He  is  dead,  then  ?"  said  Tito,  with  a  bounding  of  the  heart. 

"  Not  the  writer.  The  man  who  gave  it  me  was  a  pilgrim,* 
like  myself,  to  whom  the  writer  had  intrusted  it,  because  he  was 
journeying*  to  Italy."  225 

"  You  know  the  contents  ?" 

"  I  know  them  not,  but  I  conjecture  them.     Your  friend  is  in 
slavery — you  will  go  and  release  him.     But  I  cannot  say  more 
at  present."     The  friar,  whose  voice  had  become  feebler  and 
feebler,  sank  down  on  the  stone  bench  against  the  wall  from  230 
which  he  had  risen  to  touch  Tito's  hand. 

"  I  am  at  San  Marco ;  my  name  is  Fra  Luca." 

When  Fra  Luca  had  ceased  to  speak,  Tito  still  stood  by  him 
in  irresolution,  and  it  was  not  till,  the  pressure  of  the  passengers 
being  removed,  the  friar  rose  and  walked  slowly  into  the  church  235 
of  Santa  Felicita,  that  Tito  also  went  on  his  way  along  the  Via 
de'  Bardi. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.  —  217,  218.  ask  a  question  with  his  ejes.     Explain. 

And  compare 

"  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  drink  with  mine." 

223.  pilgrim.     Derivation  ? 


604  ELIOT' 

"  If  this  monk  is  a  Florentine,"  he  said  to  himself — "  if  he  is 
going  to  remain  at  Florence,  everything  must  be  disclosed."  He 
felt  that  a  new  crisis  had  come ;  but  he  was  not,  for  all  that,  too  240 
agitated  to  pay  his  visit  to  Bardo  and  apologize  for  his  previous 
non-appearance.  Tito's  talent  for  concealment  was  being  fast 
developed  into  something  less  neutral.  It  was  still  possible — 
perhaps  it  might  be  inevitable — for  him  to  accept  frankly  the 
altered  conditions  and  avow  Baldassarre's  existence,  but  hard-  245 
ly  without  casting  an  unpleasant  light  backward  on  his  original 
reticence  as  studied  equivocation,*  in  order  to  avoid  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a  secretly  recognized  claim,  to  say  nothing  of  his  quiet 
settlement  of  himself  and  investment  of  his  florins,  when,  it  would 
be  clear,  his  benefactor's  fate  had  not  been  certified.  It  was,  at  250 
least,  provisionally  wise  to  act  as  if  nothing  had  happened  ;  and, 
for  the  present,  he  would  suspend  decisive  thought:  there  was 
all  the  night  for  meditation,  and  no  one  would  know  the  precise 
moment  at  which  he  had  received  the  letter. 

So  he  entered  the  room  on  the  second  story,  where  Romola  255 
and  her  father  sat  among  the  parchment  and  the  marble,  aloof 
from  the  life  of  the  streets  on  holidays  as  well  as  on  common 
days,  with  a  face  just  a  little  less  bright  than  usual,  from  regret 
at  appearing  so  late — a  regret  which  wanted  no  testimony,  since 
he  had  given  up  the  sight  of  the  Corso  in  order  to  express  it —  260 
and  then  set  himself  to  throw  extra  animation  into  the  evening, 
though  all  the  while  his  consciousness  was  at  work  like  a  ma- 
chine with  complex  action,  leaving  deposits  quite  distinct  from 
the  line  of  talk ;  and,  by  the  time  he  descended  the  stone  stairs 
and  issued  from  the  grim  door  in  the  starlight,  his  mind  had  real-  265 
ly  reached  a  new  stage  in  its  formation  of  a  purpose. 

And  when,  the  next  day,  after  he  was  free  from  his  professo- 
rial work,  he  turned  up  the  Via  del  Cocomero  towards  the  Con- 
vent of  San  Marco,  his  purpose  was  fully  shaped.  He  was  go- 
ing to  ascertain  from  Fra  Luca  precisely  how  much  he  conject-  270 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. —  242,  243.  was  being  fast  deyeloped.  Improve  the 
form  of  expression. 

247.  equivocation.     Derivation? 

255-266.  So  ...  purpose.  Observe  the  remarkable  concentration  of  thought 
in  this  sentence. 


FROM  ROMOLA.  605 

ured  of  the  truth,  and  on  what  grounds  he  conjectured  it ;  and, 
further,  how  long  he  was  to  remain  at  San  Marco.  And  on  that 
fuller  knowledge  he  hoped  to  mould  a  statement  which  would  in 
any  case  save  him  from  the  necessity  of  quitting  Florence.  Tito 
had  never  had  occasion  to  fabricate  *  an  ingenious  lie  before :  the  275 
occasion  was  come  now — the  occasion  which  circumstance  never 
fails  to  beget  on  tacit  falsity;  and  his  ingenuity  was  ready.  For 
he  had  convinced  himself  that  he  was  not  bound  to  go  in  search 
of  Baldassarre.  He  had  once  said  that  on  a  fair  assurance  of 
his  father's  existence  and  whereabouts  he  would  unhesitatingly  280 
go  after  him.  But,  after  all,  why  was  he  bound  to  go  ?  What, 
looked  at  closely,  was  the  end  of  all  life  but  to  extract  the  ut- 
most sum  of  pleasure  ?  And  was  not  his  own  blooming  life  a 
promise  of  incomparably  more  pleasure,  not  for  himself  only,  but 
for  others,  than  the  withered,  wintry  life  of  a  man  who  was  past  285 
the  time  of  keen  enjoyment,  and  whose  ideas  had  stiffened  into 
barren  rigidity  ?  Those  ideas  had  all  been  sown  in  the  fresh 
soil  of  Tito's  mind,  and  were  lively  germs  there ;  that  was  the 
proper  order  of  things — the  order  of  Nature,  which  treats  all  ma- 
turity as  a  mere  nidus*  for  youth.  Baldassarre  had  done  his 290 
work,  had  had  his  draught  of  life  :  Tito  said  it  was  his  turn  now. 
And  the  prospect  was  so  vague  :  "  I  think  they  are  going  to 
take  me  to  Antioch."  Here  was  a  vista !  After  a  long  voyage, 
to  spend  months,  perhaps  years,  in  a  search  for  which  even  now 
there  was  no  guarantee  that  it  would  not  prove  vain ;  and  to  295 
leave  behind  at  starting  a  life  of  distinction  and  love ;  and  to 
find,  if  he  found  anything,  the  old  exacting  companionship  which 
was  known  by  rote  beforehand.  Certainly  the  gems,  and  there- 
fore the  florins,  were,  in  a  sense,  Baldassarre's  —  in  the  nar- 
row sense  by  which  the  right  of  possession  is  determined  in  or-  300 
dinary  affairs ;  but  in  that  larger  and  more  radically  natural  view 
by  which  the  world  belongs  to  youth  and  strength,  they  were 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 274-277.  Tito  —  ready.  What  does  circumstance 
never  fail  "  to  beget  on  tacit  falsity  ?"  Explain  the  expression  "  tacit  falsity." 

277-291.  For.  .  .  now.  State  in  your  own  words  the  conclusion  that  Tito 
had  now  reached,  and  the  process  by  which  he  reached  it. 

298-326.  Certainly  .  .  .  themselves!  Express  briefly  the  self-imposed  sophis- 
tries of  Tito. — Explain  "  A  mere  tangle  of  anomalous  traditions  and  opinions  " 
(308,  309). — Point  out  a  metaphor  in  this  passage. 


6o6 


ELIOT. 


rather  his  who  could  extract  the  most  pleasure  out  of  them. 
That,  he  was  conscious,  was  not  the  sentiment  which  the  com- 
plicated play  of  human  feelings  had  engendered  in  society.    The  305 
men  around  him  would  expect  that  he  should  immediately  apply 
those  florins  to  his  benefactor's  rescue.     But  what  was  the  sen- 
timent of  society  ?     A  mere  tangle  of  anomalous  traditions  and 
opinions,  that  no  wise  man  would  take  as  a  guide,  except  so  far 
as  his  own  comfort  was  concerned.     Not  that  he  cared  for  the  310 
florins,  save,  perhaps,  for  Romola's  sake  :  he  would  give  up  the 
florins  readily  enough.     It  was  the  joy  that  was  due  to  him  and 
was  close  to  his  lips,  which  he  felt  he  was  not  bound  to  thrust 
away  from  him  and  travel  on  thirsting.     Any  maxims  that  re- 
quired a  man  to  fling  away  the  good  that  was  needed  to  make  315 
existence  sweet  were  only  the  lining  of  human  selfishness  turned 
outward :  they  were  made  by  men  who  wanted  others  to  sacrifice 
themselves  for  their  sake.     He  would  rather  that  Baldassarre 
should  not  suffer ;  he  liked  no  one  to  suffer :  but  could  any  phi- 
losophy prove  to  him  that  he  was  bound  to  care  for  another's  320 
suffering  more  than  for  his  own  ?     To  do  so,  he  must  have  loved 
Baldassarre  devotedly,  and  he  did  not  love  him.     Was  that  his 
own  fault  ?     Gratitude !  seen  closely,  it  made  no  valid  claim. 
His  father's  life  would  have  been  dreary  without  him.     Are  we 
convicted  of  a  debt  to  men  for  the  pleasures  they  give  them- 325 
selves  ? 

Having  once  begun  to  explain  away  Baldassarre's  claim,  Tito's 
thought  showed  itself  as  active  as  a  virulent  acid,  eating  its  rap- 
id way  through  all  the  tissues  of  sentiment.     His  mind  was  des- 
titute of  that  dread  which  has  been  erroneously  decried  as  if  it  330 
were  nothing  higher  than  a  man's  animal  care  for  his  own  skin  : 
that  awe  of  the  Divine  Nemesis  *  which  was  felt  by  religious  pa- 
gans, and,  though  it  took  a  more  positive  form  under  Christian- 
ity, is  still  felt  by  the  mass  of  mankind  simply  as  a  vague  fear 
at  anything  which  is  called  wrong-doing.     Such  terror  of  the  un-  335 
seen  is  so  far  above  mere  sensual  cowardice  that  it  will  annihi- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 327-347.  In  the  last  paragraph  select  all  the  words 
of  classical  origin.  It  may  be  noted  that  George  Eliot  employs  a  large  pro- 
portion of  words  of  classical  origin,  only  about  eighty  per  cent,  of  her  vocabu- 
lary being  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  Account  for  this  from  her  intellectual 
traits. 


FROM  ROMOLA. 


607 


late  that  cowardice :  it  is  the  initial  recognition  of  a  moral  law 
restraining  desire,  and  checks  the  hard,  bold  scrutiny  of  imper- 
fect thought  into  obligations  which  can  never  be  proved  to  have 
any  sanctity  in  the  absence  of  feeling.  "  It  is  good,"  sing  the  340 
old  Eumenides*  in  ^schylus,  "that  fear  should  sit  as  the  guar- 
dian of  the  soul,  forcing  it  into  wisdom — good  that  men  should 
carry  a  threatening  shadow  in  their  hearts  under  the  full  sun- 
shine; else,  how  shall  they  learn  to  revere  the  right?"  That 
guardianship  may  become  needless ;  but  only  when  all  outward  345 
law  has  become  needless — only  when  duty  and  love  have  united 
in  one  stream  and  made  a  common  force. 


XL. 

THOMAS    H.  HUXLEY. 

1825. 


THE   SCIENTIFIC   SPIRIT   IN   MODERN  THOUGHT. 

[INTRODUCTION. — The  following  extracts  form  the  greater  part  of  Huxley's 
lay  sermon  On  the  Advisableness  of  Improving  Natural  Knowledge.  The 
writings  of  Huxley  furnish,  perhaps,  the  most  striking  illustration  of  the  mod- 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  IN  MODERN  THOUGHT.     609 

ern  union  of  science  with  literature,  a  union  that  commends  science  to  the 
great  laity  by  a  flowing  treatment  and  the  graces  of  style.] 

1.  This  time  two  hundred  years  ago— in  the  beginning  of  Jan- 
uary, 1666  —  those  of  our  forefathers  who  inhabited  this  great 
and  ancient  city  took  breath  between  the  shocks  of  two  fearful 
calamities  :*  one  not  quite  past,  although  its  fury  had  abated ; 
the  other  to  come.  5 

2.  Within  a  few  yards  of  the  very  spot  on  which  we  are  as- 
sembled, so  the  tradition  runs,  that  painful  and  deadly  malady, 
the  plague,  appeared  in  the  latter  months  of  1664  ;  and,  though 
no  new  visitor,  smote  the  people  of  England,  and  especially  of 
her  capital,  with  a  violence  unknpwn  before,  in  the  course  of  the  10. 
following  year.     The  hand  of  a  master  has  pictured  what  hap- 
pened in  those  dismal  months ;  and  in  that  truest  of  fictions, 
The  History  of  the  Plague  Year,  Defoe  shows  Death,  with  every 
accompaniment  of  pain  and  terror,  stalking  through  the  narrow 
streets  of  old  London,  and  changing  their  busy  hum  into  a  si- 15 
lence  broken  only  by  the  wailing  of  the  mourners  of  fifty  thou- 
sand dead ;  by  the  woful  denunciations  and  mad  prayers  of  fa- 
natics ;  and  by  the  madder  yells  of  despairing  profligates. 

3.  But,  about  this  time  in   1666,  the  death-rate  had  sunk  to 
nearly  its  ordinary  amount ;  a  case  of  plague  occurred  only  here  20 
and  there,  and  the  richer  citizens  who  had  flown  from  the  pest 
had  returned  to  their  dwellings.     The  remnant  of  the  people 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 1-31.  Paragraphs  1-4  form  the  introduction  to  the 
essay:  to  what  class  of  composition  does  this  exordium  belong?  (See  Def. 
7.) — The  pupil  will  observe  the  skill  with  which  an  exposition  strictly  scien- 
tific is  introduced  in  such  a  way  as  to  challenge  the  attention  of  non-scientific, 
or  fay,  readers. 

1-5.  This  .  .  .  come.  What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically?  (See  Def.  58.) — 
Grammatical  construction  of  "time?"  (See  Swinton's  New  English  Gram- 
mar, p.  105,  ix.)  By  "this  great  .  .  .  city,"  London  will,  of  course,  be  under- 
stood.— What  is  the  figure  in  "  took  breath  ?"  (See  Def.  20.) — Derivation  of 
"  calamity  ?" 

13,  14.  Death  .  .  .  stalking,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?  (See  Def. 
22.) 

16,  17.  fifty  thousand  dead.  Observe  the  effectiveness  of  the  use  of  a  specific 
number,  in  contrast  with  the  method  of  indefinite  statement,  as  many  thousand? 
of  dead,  myriads  of  dead,  etc. 

19.  this  time  in  1666 :  i.  e.,  in  January,  1666. 

39 


6lo  HUXLEY. 

began  to  toil  at  the  accustomed  round  of  duty  or  of  pleasure ; 
and  the.  stream  of  city  life  bid  fair  to  flow  back  along  its  old 
bed,  with  renewed  and  uninterrupted  vigor.  25 

4.  The  newly  kindled  hope  was  deceitful.     The  great  plague, 
indeed,  returned  no  more ;  but  what  it  had  done  for  the  Lon- 
doners, the  great  fire,  which  broke  out  in  the  autumn  of  1666, 
did  for  London ;  and,  in  September  of  that  year,  a  heap  of  ashes 
and  the  indestructible  energy  of  the  people  were  all  that  re- 30 
mained  of  the  glory  of  five  sixths  of  the  city  within  the  walls. 

5.  Our  forefathers  had  their  own  ways  of  accounting  for  each 
of  these  calamities.     They  submitted  to  the  plague  in  humility 
and  in  penitence,  for  they  believed  it  to  be  the  judgment  of  God. 
But  towards  the  fire  they  were  furiously  indignant,  interpreting  35 
it  as  the  effect  of  the  malice  of  man, — as  the  work  of  the  Re- 
publicans, or  of  the  Papists,  according  as  their  prepossessions 
ran  in  favor  of  loyalty  or  of  Puritanism. 

6.  It  would,  I  fancy,  have  fared  but  ill  with  one  who,  standing 
where  I  now  stand,  in  what  was  then  a  thickly  peopled  and  40 
fashionable  part  of  London,  should  have  broached  to  our  ances- 
tors the  doctrine  which  I  now  propound  to  you — that  all  their 
hypotheses  were  alike  wrong;  that  the  plague  was  no  more,  in 
their  sense,  Divine  judgment,  than  the  fire  was  the  work  of  any 
political,  or  of  any  religious,  sect ;  but  that  they  were  themselves  45 
the  authors  of  both  plague  and  fire,  and  that  they  must  look  to 
themselves  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  calamities,  to  all  appear- 
ance so  peculiarly  beyond  the  reach  of  human  control — so  evi- 
dently the  result  of  the  wrath  of  God  or  of  the  craft  and  sub- 
tlety of  an  enemy.  ...  50 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 24.  the  stream,  etc.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech? 
(See  Def.  20.)  Show  how  the  metaphor  is  carried  out. 

26-31.  The . . .  walls.  In  that  delicate  art,  the  transition  from  paragraph  to 
paragraph,  Huxley  rivals  Macaulay.  An  illustration  is  presented  in  paragraph 
4,  in  which  the  anticipative  thought  in  the  previous  paragraph  is  generalized 
in  the  first  sentence,  and  specialized  in  the  second. 

35.  But  towards  the  flre,  etc.  Remark  on  the  order  of  words,  with  reference 
to  the  object  of  emphasis. 

39-50.  It ...  enemy.  The  sentence  constituting  paragraph  4  should  be 
studied  both  as  regards  structure  and  matter :  it  is  a  fine  example  of  the  max- 
imum of  thought  in  the  minimum  of  words. 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  IN  MODERN  THOUGHT.     6n 

7.  Some  twenty  years  before  the  outbreak  of  the  plague,  a  few 
calm  and  thoughtful  students  banded  themselves  together  for 
the  purpose,  as  they  phrased  it,  of  "  improving  natural  knowl- 
edge." The  ends  they  proposed  to  attain  cannot  be  stated  more 
clearly  than  in  the  words  of  one  of  the  founders  of  the  organiza-  ss 
tion :  "  Our  business  was  (precluding  matters  of  theology  and 
state  affairs)  to  discourse  and  consider  of  philosophical  enquir- 
ies, and  such  as  related  thereunto : — as  Physick,  Anatomy,  Ge- 
ometry, Astronomy,  Navigation,  Staticks,  Magneticks,  Chymicks, 
Mechanicks,  and  Natural  Experiments  ;  with  the  state  of  these  60 
studies  and  their  cultivation  at  home  and  abroad.  We  then  dis- 
coursed of  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  the  valves  in  the  veins, 
the  vence  lactea,  the  lymphatic  vessels,  the  Copernican  hypothe- 
sis, the  nature  of  comets  and  new  stars,  the  satellites  of  Jupiter, 
the  oval  shape  (as  it  then  appeared)  of  Saturn,  the  spots  on  the  65 
sun  and  its  turning  on  its  own  axis,  the  inequalities  and  selenog- 
raphy* of  the  moon,  the  several  phases  of  Venus  and  Mercury, 
the  improvement  of  telescopes  and  grinding  of  glasses  for  that 
purpose,  the  weight  of  air,  the  possibility  or  impossibility  of  va- 
cuities and  nature's  abhorrence  thereof,  the  Torricellian  experi-  7° 
ment  in  quicksilver,  the  descent  of  heavy  bodies  and  the  degree 
of  acceleration  therein,  with  divers  other  things  of  like  nature, 
some  of  which  were  then  but  new  discoveries,  and  others  not  so 
generally  known  and  embraced  as  now  they  are  ;  with  other 
things  appertaining  to  what  hath  been  called  the  New  Philos-75 
phy,  which,  from  the  times  of  Galileo  at  Florence,  and  Sir  Fran- 
cis Bacon  (Lord  Verulam)  in  England,  hath  been  much  culti- 
vated in  Italy,  France,  Germany,  and  other  parts  abroad,  as 
well  as  with  us  in  England."  The  learned  Dr.  Wallis,  writing  in 
1696,  narrates,  in  these  words,  what  happened  half  a  century  be- 80 
fore,  or  about  1645.  The  associates  met  at  Oxford,  in  the  rooms 
of  Dr.  Wilkins,  who  was  destined  to  become  a  bishop  ;  and  sub- 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 51-54.  Some  .  .  .  knowledge.  What  kind  of  sentence 
rhetorically?  Change  into  the  direct  order. 

58-60.  as  Physick  .  .  .  Experiments.  The  author  is  here  citing,  verbatim  et 
literatim,  the  language  used  by  Dr.  Wallis  in  setting  forth  the  aims  and  pro- 
cedure of  the  Royal  Society :  pupils  will  give  the  modern  orthography  and 
forms  of  words.  The  whole  paragraph  deserves  careful  study  as  outlining 
the  state  of  science  in  the  middle  of  the  i;th  century. 


6j  2  HUXLEY. 

sequently  coming  together  in  London,  they  attracted  the  notice 
of  the  king.  .  .  . 

8.  Thus  it  was  that  the  half-dozen  young  men,  studious  of  the 
"  New  Philosophy,"  who  met  in  one  another's  lodgings  in  Ox- 
ford or  in  London,  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  . 
grew  in  numerical  and  in  real  strength,  until,  in  its  latter  part, 
the  "  Royal   Society  for  the   Improvement  of   Natural   Knowl- 
edge "  had  already  become  famous,  and  had  acquired  a  claim  90 
upon  the  veneration  of  Englishmen,  which  it  has  ever  since  re- 
tained, as  the  principal  focus*  of  scientific  activity  in  our  islands, 
and  the  chief  champion  of  the  cause  it  was  formed  to  support. 

9.  It  was  by  the  aid  of  the  Royal  Society  that  Newton  pub- 
lished his  Principia.     If  all  the  books  in  the  world  except  the  9b 
Philosophical  Transactions  were  destroyed,  it  is  safe  to  say  that 
the  foundations  of  physical  science  would  remain  unshaken,  and 
that  the  vast  intellectual  progress  of  the  last  two  centuries  would 
be  largely,  though  incompletely,  recorded.     Nor  have  any  signs 

of  halting  or  of  decrepitude*  manifested  themselves  in  our  own  100 
times.  As  in  Dr.  Wallis's  days,  so  in  these,  "  our  business  is, 
precluding  theology  and  state  affairs,  to  discourse  and  consider 
of  philosophical  enquiries."  But  our  "  Mathematick"  is  one 
which  Newton  would  have  to  go  to  school  to  learn ;  our  "  Stat- 
icks,  Mechanicks,  Magneticks,  Chymicks,  and  Natural  Experi-  ios 
ments  "  constitute  a  mass  of  physical  and  chemical  knowledge, 
a  glimpse  at  which  would  compensate  Galileo  for  the  doings  of 
a  score  of  inquisitorial  cardinals  ;  our  "  Physick  "  and  "  Anat- 
omy" have  embraced  such  infinite  varieties  of  being,  have  laid 
open  such  new  worlds  in  time  and  space,  have  grappled,  not  un-  no 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 89.  Royal  Society,  etc.  Note  that  the  designation  of 
the  "  Royal  Society  "  suggests  the  title  of  Huxley's  essay. 

92.  focus.     Etymology  ? 

94,  95.  Newton  .  .  .  Principia.  Write  a  short  biographical  sketch  of  Newton, 
and  state  briefly  the  subject  of  the  Principia. 

95~99*  If ...  recorded.  »  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically  ?  Rhetori- 
cally?— On  what  is  the  metaphor  in  "foundations  .  .  .  unshaken"  based? 

104.  -would  hare  to  go,  etc.  What  inference  do  you  draw  from  this  respect- 
ing the  advance  of  mathematics  ? 

107,  1 08.  Galileo .  .  .  cardinals.     Explain  the  historical  allusion. 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  IN  MODERN  THOUGHT.     613 

successfully,  with  such  complex  problems,  that  the  eyes  of  Vesa- 
lius  and  of  Harvey  might  be  dazzled  by  the  sight  of  the  tree 
that  has  grown  out  of  their  grain  of  mustard  seed.  .  .  . 

10.  We  have  learned  that  pestilences  will  only  take  up  their 
abode  among  those  who  have  prepared  unswept  and  ungarnished  us 
residences  for  them.     Their  cities  must  have  narrow,  unwatered 
streets,  foul  with  accumulated  garbage.*     Their  houses  must  be 
ill-drained,  ill-lighted,  ill-ventilated.     Their  subjects  must  be  ill- 
washed,  ill-fed,  ill-clothed.    The  London  of  1665  was  such  a  city. 
The  cities  of  the  East,  where  plague  has  an  enduring  dwelling,  120 
are  such  cities.     We,  in  later  times,  have  learned  somewhat  of 
Nature,  and  partly  obey  her.     Because  of  this  partial  improve- 
ment of  our  natural  knowledge  and  of  that  fractional  obedience, 
we  have  no  plague ;  because  that  knowledge  is  still  very  imper- 
fect and  that  obedience  yet  incomplete,  typhus*  is  our  companion  125 
and  cholera*  our  visitor.    But  it  is  not  presumptuous  to  express 
the  belief  that,  when  our  knowledge  is  more  complete  and  our 
obedience  the  expression  of  our  knowledge,  London  will  count 
her  centuries  of  freedom  from  typhus  and  cholera,  as  she  now 
gratefully  reckons  her  two  hundred  years  of  ignorance  of  that  130 
plague  which  swooped  upon  her  thrice  in  the  first  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century. 

n.  Surely,  there  is  nothing  in  these  explanations  which  is  not 
fully  borne  out  by  the  facts?  Surely,  the  principles  involved  in 
them  are  now  admitted  among  the  fixed  beliefs  of  all  thinking  135 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — in,  112.  of  Vesalius.  Who  was  Vesalius,  and  what 
contribution  to  anatomy  did  he  make?  Who  was  Harvey,  and  what  great 
truth  did  he  demonstrate  ? 

112,  113.  tree  that  has  grown,  etc.     What  is  the  allusion? 

115.  unswept,  etc.     What  is  the  allusion  ? 

116.  Their  cities.     Explain. 

117.  garbage.     Etymology? 

122-126.  Because  .  .  .  visitor.  Separate  into  two  sentences. — Etymology  of 
"cholera?" 

128.  London  will  count,  etc.  What  form  of  metonymy  is  this?  (See  Def. 
29,  4.) 

133-140.  Surely  ...  them!  To  what  type,  grammatically  considered,  do 
these  sentences  belong  ?  What  is  the  effect  of  the  use  of  the  interrogative 
form?  Change  to  the  declarative  form,  and  note  if  equal  effectiveness  would 
be  attained. 


6I4  HUXLEY. 

men  ?  Surely,  it  is  true  that  our  countrymen  are  less  subject  to 
fire,  famine,  pestilence,  and  all  the  evils  which  result  from  a  want 
of  command  over  and  due  anticipation  of  the  course  of  Nature, 
than  were  the  countrymen  of  Milton  ;  and  health,  wealth,  and 
well-being  are  more  abundant  with  us  than  with  them  ?  But  no  i40 
less  certainly  is  the  difference  due  to  the  improvement  of  our 
knowledge  of  Nature,  and  the  extent  to  which  that  improved 
knowledge  has  been  incorporated  with  the  household  words  of 
men,  and  has  supplied  the  springs  of  their  daily  actions. 

12.  Granting  for  a  moment,  then,  the  truth  of  that  which  the  145 
depreciators  of  natural  knowledge  are  so  fond  of  urging,  that  its 
improvement  can  only  add  to  the  resources  of  our  material  civ- 
ilization ;  admitting  it  to  be  possible  that  the  founders  of  the 
Royal  Society  themselves  looked  for  no  other  reward  than  this, 

I  cannot  confess  that  I  was  guilty  of  exaggeration*  when  I  hinted  150 
that  to  him  who  had  the  gift  of  distinguishing  between  promi- 
nent events  and  important  events,  the  origin  of  a  combined  ef- 
fort on  the  part  of  mankind  to  improve  natural  knowledge  might 
have  loomed  larger  than  the  Plague  and  have  outshone  the  glare 
of  the  Fire ;  as  a  something  fraught  with  a  wealth  of  beneficence  i5S 
to  mankind,  in  comparison  with  which  the  damage  done  by  those 
ghastly  evils  would  shrink  into  insignificance. 

13.  It  is  very  certain  that,  for  every  victim  slain  by  the  Plague, 
hundreds  of  mankind  exist,  and  find  a  fair  share  of  happiness"  in 
the  world,  by  the  aid  of  the  spinning-jenny.*    And  the  Great  Fire,  160 
at  its  worst,  could  not  have  burned  the  supply  of  coal,  the  daily 
working  of  which,  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  made  possible  by 
the  steam-pump,  gives  rise  to  an  amount  of  wealth  to  which  the 
millions  lost  in  old  London  are  but  as  an  old  song. 

14.  But  spinning- jenny  and  steam-pump  are,  after  all,  but  165 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 144.  has  supplied.  What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ? 
(See  Def.  20.) 

145-157.  Granting.  .  .insignificance.  To  what  class  rhetorically  does  this 
fine  sentence  belong?  (See  Def.  58.) — Etymology  of  "exaggeration"  (150)  ? 
— What  do  you  take  to  be  the  distinction  between  '•'prominent  events  and  im- 
portant events"  (151,  152)? 

154.  and  hare  outshone,  etc.     What  is  the  figure  of  speech  ?     (See  Def.  20.) 

160.  spinning-jenny.  Etymology?  Who  invented  this  machine?  Give  a 
brief  sketch  of  his  life. 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  IN  MODERN  THOUGHT.     615 

toys,  possessing  an  accidental  value ;  and  natural  knowledge 
creates  multitudes  of  more  subtle*  contrivances,  the  praises  of 
which  do  not  happen  to  be  sung  because  they  are  not  directly 
convertible  into  instruments  for  creating  wealth.  .  .  . 

15.   I  cannot  but  think  that   the  foundations  of  all  natural  170 
knowledge  were  laid  when  the  reason  of  man  first  came  face  to 
face  with  the  facts  of  Nature  :  when  the  savage  first  learned  that 
the  fingers  of  one  hand  are  fewer  than  those  of  both ;  that  it  is 
shorter  to  cross  a  stream  than  to  head  it ;  that  a  stone  stops 
where  it  is  unless  it  be  moved,  and  that  it  drops  from  the  hand  175 
which  lets  it  go ;  that  light  and  heat  come  and  go  with  the  sun  ; 
that  sticks  burn  away  in  a  fire ;  that  plants  and  animals  grow 
and  die ;  that  if  he  struck  his  fellow-savage  a  blow,  he  would 
make  him  angry,  and  perhaps  get  a  blow  in  return  ;  while  if  he 
offered  him  a  fruit,  he  would  please  him,  and  perhaps  receive  a  180 
fish  in  exchange.     When  men  had  acquired  this  much  knowl- 
edge, the  outlines,  rude  though  they  were,  of  mathematics,  of 
physics,  of  chemistry,  of  biology,  of  moral,  economical,  and  po- 
litical science,  were  sketched.     Nor  did  the  germ  of  religion  fail 
when  science  began  to  bud.    Listen  to  words  which,  though  new,  185 
are  yet  three  thousand  years  old  : 

"...  When  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid, 
And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens  190 

Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart." 

If  the  half-savage  Greek  could  share  our  feelings  thus  far,  it  is 
irrational  to  doubt  that  he  went  further,  to  find,  as  we  do,  that 
upon  that  brief  gladness  there  follows  a  certain   sorrow, — the  195 
little  light  of  awakened  human  intelligence  shines  so  mere  a 
spark  amidst  the  abyss  of  the  unknown  and  unknowable ;  seems 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 170-181.  I . . .  exchange.  What  kind  of  sentence 
grammatically  ? 

182-184.  outlines  ...  sketched.  What  figure  is  here  implied?  (See  Def. 
20.) 

184,  185.  germ  . . .  bud.  What  is  the  figure  ?  On  what  is  the  metaphor 
founded  ? 

195.  that  brief  gladness.     What  "  brief  gladness  ?" 


616  HUXLEY. 

\ 

so  insufficient  to  do  more  than  illuminate  the  imperfections  that 
cannot  be  remedied,  the  aspirations  that  cannot  be  realized,  of 
man's  own  nature.  But  in  this  sadness,  this  consciousness  of  200 
the  limitation  of  man,  this  sense  of  an  open  secret  which  he  can- 
not penetrate,  lies  the  essence  of  all  religion  ;  and  the  attempt 
to  embody  it  in  the  forms  furnished  by  the  intellect  is  the  origin 
of  the  higher  theologies. 

1 6.  Thus  it  seems  impossible  to  imagine  but  that  the  founda-aos 
tions  of  all  knowledge,  secular  or  sacred,  were  laid  when  in- 
telligence dawned,  though  the  superstructure  remained  for  long 
ages  so  slight  and  feeble  as  to  be  compatible  with  the  existence 
of  almost  any  general  view  respecting  the  mode  of  governance 
of  the  universe.     No  doubt,  from  the  first,  there  were  certain  210 
phenomena  which,  to  the  rudest  mind,  presented  a  constancy  of 
occurrence,  and  suggested  that  a  fixed  order  ruled,  at  any  rate, 
among  them.    I  doubt  if  the  grossest  of  fetiche-worshippers  ever 
imagined  that  a  stone  must  have  a  god  within  it  to  make  it  fall, 
or  that  a  fruit  had  a  god  within  it  to  make  it  taste  sweet.     With  213 
regard  to  such  matters  as  these,  it  is  hardly  questionable  that 
mankind  from  the  first  took  strictly  positive  and  scientific  views. 

17.  But,  with  respect  to  all  the  less  familiar  occurrences  which 
present  themselves,  uncultured  man,  no  doubt,  has  always  taken 
himself  as  the  standard  of  comparison,  as  the  centre  and  meas-22o 
ure  of  the  world ;  nor  could  he  well  avoid  doing  so.     And  find- 
ing that  his  apparently  uncaused  will  has  a  powerful  effect  in 
giving  rise  to  many  occurrences,  he  naturally  enough  ascribed 
other  and  greater  events  to  other  and  greater  volitions,  and  came 

to  look  upon  the  world,  and  all  that  therein  is,  as  the  product  of  225 
the  volitions  of  persons  like  himself,  but  stronger,  and  capable 
of  being  appeased  or  angered,  as  he  himself  might  be  soothed 
or  irritated.     Through  such  conceptions  of  the  plan  and  work- 
ing of  the  universe  all  mankind  have  passed,  or  are  passing. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 200-204.  But .  .  .  theologies.  Arrange  in  the  direct 
order. — In  this  sentence  point  out  an  example  of  oxymoron. 

205-210.  Thus  .  . .  universe.  In  this  sentence  what  word  carries  out  the  fig- 
ure in  "foundations?" 

213.  fetich.     Etymology? 

218-221.  But. ..  so.  What  kind  of  sentence  grammatically?  Rhetori- 
cally? 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  IN  MODERN  THOUGHT.     617 

And  we  may  now  consider  what  has  been  the  effect  of  the  im-  230 
provement  of  natural  knowledge  on  the  views  of  men  who  have 
reached  this  stage,  and  who  have  begun  to  cultivate  natural 
knowledge  with  no  desire  but  that  of  "  increasing  God's  honor 
and  bettering  man's  estate." 

18.  For  example  :  what  could  seem  wiser,  from  a  mere  material  235 
•point  of  view,  more  innocent,  from  a  theological  one,  to  an  an- 
cient people,  than  that  they  should  learn  the  exact  succession  of 
the  seasons,  as  warnings  for  their  husbandmen  ;  or  the  position 
of  the  stars,  as  guides  to  their  rude  navigators  ?     But  what  has 
grown  out  of  this  search  for  natural  knowledge  of  so  merely  use-  240 
ful  a  character  ?    You  all  know  the  reply.     Astronomy,* — which 

of  all  sciences  has  rilled  men's  minds  with  general  ideas  of  a 
character  most  foreign  to  their  daily  experience,  and  has,  more 
than  any  other,  rendered  it  impossible  for  them  to  accept  the 
beliefs  of  their  fathers.  Astronomy, — which  tells  them  that  this  245 
so  vast  and  seemingly  solid  earth  is  but  an  atom*  among  atoms, 
whirling,  no  man  knows  whither,  through  illimitable  space  ;  which 
demonstrates  that  what  we  call  the  peaceful  heaven  above  us  is 
but  that  space,  filled  by  an  infinitely  subtle  matter  whose  par- 
ticles are  seething  and  surging,  like  the  waves  of  an  angry  sea ;  250 
which  opens  up  to  us  infinite  regions  where  nothing  is  known, 
or  ever  seems  to  have  been  known,  but  matter  and  force,  oper- 
ating according  to  rigid  rules ;  which  leads  us  to  contemplate 
phenomena  the  very  nature  of  which  demonstrates  that  they 
must  have  had  a  beginning  and  that  they  must  have  an  end,  but  255 
the  very  nature  of  which  also  proves  that  the  beginning  was,  to 
our  conceptions  of  time,  infinitely  remote,  and  that  the  end  is  as 
immeasurably  distant. 

19.  But  it  is  not  alone  those  who  pursue  astronomy  who  ask 
for  bread  and  receive  ideas.     What  more  harmless  than  the  at-  260 
tempt  to  lift  and  distribute  water  by  pumping  it ;  what  more  ab- 
solutely and  grossly  utilitarian  ?      But  out  of  pumps  grew  the 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS.— 232.  this  stage.     What  "stage?" 
241.  Astronomy.     Derivation? 

244,  245.  the  beliefs  of  their  fathers.    Show  how  this  is  expanded  in  the  sub- 
sequent part  of  the  paragraph. 
246.  atom.     Derivation  ? 
259,  260.  ask  for  bread,  etc.     What  is  the  allusion  ? 


6l8  HUXLEY. 

discussions  about  Nature's  abhorrence  of  a  vacuum ;  and  then 
it  was  discovered  that  Nature  does  not  abhor  a  vacuum,  but  that 
air  has  weight ;  and  that  notion  paved  the  way  for  the  doctrine  265 
that  all  matter  has  weight,  and  that  the  force  which  produces 
weight  is  coextensive  with  the  universe, — in  short,  to  the  theory 
of  universal  gravitation  and  endless  force ;  while  learning  how 
to  handle  gases  led  to  the  discovery  of  oxygen,*  and  to  modern 
chemistry,  and  to  the  notion  of  the  indestructibility  of  matter.  270 

20.  Again,  what  simpler,  or  more  absolutely  practical,  than  the 
attempt  to  keep  the  axle  of  a  wheel  from  heating  when  the  wheel 
turns  round  very  fast  ?     How  useful  for  carters  and  gig-drivers 
to  know  something  about  this ;  and  how  good  were  it,  if  any  in- 
genious person  would  find  out  the  cause  of  such  phenomena,  275 
and  thence  educe  a  general  remedy  for  them !     Such  an  ingen- 
ious person  was  Count  Rumford  ;  and  he  and  his  successors  have 
landed  us  in  the  theory  of  the  persistence,  or  indestructibility, 

of  force.     And  in  the  infinitely  minute,  as  in  the  infinitely  great, 
the  seekers  after  natural  knowledge,  of  the  kinds  called  physical  280 
and  chemical,  have  everywhere  found  a  definite  order  and  suc- 
cession of  events  which  seem  never  to  be  infringed. 

21.  And  how  has  it  fared  with  "Physick"  and   Anatomy? 
Have  the  anatomist,  the  physiologist,  or  the  physician,  whose 
business  it  has  been  to  devote  themselves  assiduously  to  that  285 
eminently  practical  and  direct  end,  the  alleviation  of  the  suffer- 
ings of  mankind, — have  they  been  able  to  confine  their  vision 
more  absolutely  to  the  strictly  useful  ?     I  fear  they  are  worst 
offenders  of  all.     For  if  the  astronomer  has  set  before  us  the  in- 
finite magnitude  of  space,  and  the  practical  eternity  of  the  dura- 290 
tion  of  the  universe ;  if  the  physical  and  chemical  philosophers 
have  demonstrated  the   infinite  minuteness   of  its  constituent 
parts,  and  the  practical  eternity  of  matter  and  of  force ;  and  if 
both  have  alike  proclaimed  the  universality  of  a  definite  and 
predicable  order  and  succession  of  events,  the  workers  in  biol-  295 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 269.  oxygen.     Etymology  ? 

271-282.  How  many  sentences  in  paragraph  20?  To  what  type,  grammati- 
cally and  rhetorically,  does  each  sentence  belong  ? — Who  was  Count  Rum- 
ford  (277)? 

284,  285.  Have  . .  .  themselves,  etc.     Query  as  to  the  plural  number. 

289-297.  For  ...  own.     What  kind  of  sentence  rhetorically  ? 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  IN  MODERN  THOUGHT.      619 

ogy  have  not  only  accepted  all  these,  but  have  added  more 
startling  theses  of  their  own.  For,  as  the  astronomers  discover 
in  the  earth  no  centre  of  the  universe,  but  an  eccentric  speck,  so 
the  naturalists  find  man  to  be  no  centre  of  the  living  world,  bu* 
one  amidst  endless  modifications  of  life  ;  and  as  the  astronomer  30° 
observes  the  mark  of  practically  endless  time  set  upon  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  solar  system,  so  the  student  of  life  finds  the 
records  of  ancient  forms  of  existence  peopling  the  world  for 
ages,  which,  in  relation  to  human  experience,  are  infinite.  Fur- 
thermore, the  physiologist  finds  life  to  be  as  dependent  for  its  305 
manifestation  on  particular  molecular  arrangements  as  any  phys- 
ical or  chemical  phenomenon  ;  and,  wherever  he  extends  his  re- 
searches, fixed  order  and  unchanging  causation  reveal  them- 
selves, as  plainly  as  in  the  rest  of  Nature.  .  .  . 

22.  Such  are  a  few  of  the  new  conceptions  implanted  in  our  310 
minds  by  the  improvement  of  natural  knowledge.     Men  have 
acquired  the  ideas  of  the  practically  infinite  extent  of  the  uni- 
verse and  of  its  practical  eternity ;  they  are  familiar  with  the 
conception  that  our  earth  is  but  an  infinitesimal  fragment  of  that 
part  of  the  universe  which  can  be  seen ;  and  that,  nevertheless,  3*5 
its  duration  is,  as  compared  with  our  standards  of  time,  infinite. 
They  have  further  acquired  the  idea  that  man  is  but  one  of  in- 
numerable forms  of  life  now  existing  in  the  globe,  and  that  the 
present  existences  are  but  the  last  of  an  immeasurable  series  of 
predecessors.     Moreover,  every  step  they  have  made  in  natural  320 
knowledge  has  tended  to  extend  and  rivet  in  their  minds  the 
conception  of  a  definite  order  of  the  universe — which  is  em- 
bodied in  what  are  called,  by  an  unhappy  metaphor,  the  laws  of 
Nature — and  to  narrow  the  range  and  loosen  the  force  of  men's 
belief  in  spontaneity,  or  in  changes  other  than  such  as  arise  out  325 
of  that  definite  order  itself. 

23.  Whether  these  ideas  are  well  or  ill  founded  is  not  the  ques- 
tion.    No  one  can  deny  that  they  exist,  and  have  been  the  in- 
evitable outgrowth  of  the  improvement  of  natural  knowledge. 
And  if  so,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  they  are  changing  the  form  330 
of  men's  most  cherished  and  most  important  convictions. 


LITERARY  ANALYSIS. — 310-326.  Such  . . .  itself.     In  paragraph  22  select  all 
the  words  of  classical  origin. 


GLOSSARY. 


ABBREVIATIONS. 


adj.,  adjective. 
A.-S.,  Anglo-Saxon. 
Fr..  French. 
gen.,  genitive. 
Ger.,  German. 
Goth.,  Gothic. 
Gr.,  Greek. 


Heb.,  Hebrew. 
It,  Italian. 
Lat.,  Latin. 
L.  Lat.,  Low  (/.  e.  mediasval) 
Latin, 
lit.,  literally, 
n.,  noun. 

O.  Eng.,  Old  English. 
O.  Fr.,  Old  French, 
p.  p.,  past  participle, 
pers.,  person, 
pi.  ,  plural, 
sing.,  singular, 
v.,  verb. 

abominable,  Lat.  abominabllis,  from  ab 
and  omen,  contrary  to  the  omens, 
foreboding :  detestable. 

absurd,  Lat.  absurdus.  from  ab,  from, 
and  surdns,  deaf,  lit.  proceeding 
from  one  that  is  deaf,  and  hence 
incongruous :  opposed  to  manifest 
truth. 

absurdity.     See  absurd. 

abundance,  Lat.  abundantia,  from  ab  and 
unda,  a  wave  ;  lit.  an  overflow  : 
an  overflowing  fulness  ;  plen- 
teousness. 

address,  v.,  Fr.  adresser,  from  Lat.  diri- 
gere  (dis  and  regere),  to  arrange, 
set  in  array  :  to  prepare. 

admire,  Lat.  admirari,  from  ad  and 
mirari,  to  wonder  at ;  used  by 
Bacon  in  its  etymological  sense. 

ado,  A.-S.  a,  to,  and  do :  bustle,  trouble. 

aisle,  O.  Fr.  aisle  (Fr.  ai/e),  Lat.  ala,  a 
wing  of  a  building  :  in  Gothic  ca- 
thedrals and  churches,  one  of  the 
lateral  divisions  of  a  building  sep- 
arated from  the  middle  of  the  nave 
by  two  rows  of  piers. 


Albion,  an  ancient  or  poetical  name  of 
England.  The  name  "Albion''  is 
derived  from  Lat.  albus,  white,  on 
account  of  the  appearance  of  Eng- 
land's chalky  cliffs. 

alchemist,  Arabic  al-kimia,  alchemy 
(which,  however,  is  thought  to  be 
ultimately  from  a  Greek  root  che- 
mos,  juice,  liquid)  :  one  who  prac- 
tises alchemy. 

ambiguity,  Lat.  ambiguus,  from  ambi- 
gere  (amb,  around,  and  agere,  to 
drive),  to  wander  about  with  ir- 
resolute mind  :  doubtfulness  or 
uncertainty. 

ambition,  Lat.  ambitio,  from  amb, 
around,  and  ire,  to  go,  a  going 
around,  especially  of  candidates  in 
Rome  to  solicit  votes,  and  hence, 
primarily,  desire  for  office :  an 
eager  desire  for  honor,  superior- 
ity, or  power. 

ambitious.     See  ambition. 

Amen,  Heb.  amen,  true  :  an  expression 
used  at  the  end  of  prayers,  and 
meaning  So  be  it. 


622          MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


annuity,  L.  Lat.  annuitas,  from  annns, 
year  :  a  sum  of  money  payable 
yearly. 

anon,  adv.,  A.-S.  an  =  in,  and  on  =  one, 
that  is,  in  one  minute :  hence  soon. 

anonymous,  Lat.  anonymus,  from  Gr. 
anonuntos,  without  a  name  (an, 
privative,  and  onuma,  name )  : 
nameless. 

antic,  adj.,  Lat.  antiquus,  old,  ancient. 
Used  in-  this  primary  sense  by 
Milton.  Then,  since  what  is  old 
and  old-fashioned  is  liable  to  be 
thought  of  as  odd,  it  came  to  mean 
fantastic,  grotesque. 

Aphrodite,  Gr.  Aphrodite,  the  Greek 
name  for  Lat.  Venus,  from  aphros, 
the  foam  of  the  sea.  Cupid  (Gr. 
Eros]  was  her  son,  "her  boy." 

apothecary,  Gr.  apotheke,  repository 
(from  apo,  away,  and  tithenai,  to 
put) :  one  who  sells  drugs.  In 
England  apothecaries  also  pre- 
scribe for  diseases,  acting  as  sub- 
physicians. 

apparel,  v.,  Fr.  appareil,  provision,  fur- 
nishing :  to  clothe,  to  attire. 

argent,  Lat.  argentum,  silver  :  resem- 
bling silver,  hence  bright. 

armistice,  Fr.  armistice,  from  Lat.  arma, 
arms,  and  stare,  to  stand  still :  sus- 
pension of  hostilities  by  agree- 
ment ;  a  truce. 

askance,  Dutch  schuins,  sideways  :  ob- 
liquely. 

astronomy,  Gr.  astron,  constellation, 
star,  and  nemein,  to  regulate  (no- 
mos,  law  or  rule ) :  the  science 
which  treats  of  the  celestial  bod- 
ies. 

atheist,  Gr.  a,  without,  Theos,  God :  one 
who  denies  the  existence  of  a  God. 

atom,  Gr.  atomos  (a  =  un,  and  tomos  = 
cut) :  an  ultimate,  indivisible  par- 
ticle. 

atoning,  adj.,  A.-S.  at  and  one :  to  cause 
to  be  at  one,  to  reconcile.  In  this 


transitive  use  and  sense  the  word 
is  obsolete. 

atrabiliar,  L.  Lat.  atrabiliaris,  from 
Lat.  atra,  black,  and  bills,  bile  : 
affected  with  melancholy. 
audience,  Lat.  audientia,  a  hearing,  from 
audire,  to  hear :  the  act  of  hear- 
ing ;  admittance  to  a  hearing. 
augur,  v.,  Lat.  n.  augur,  a  Roman  of- 
ficer who  pretended  to  foretell 
future  events  by  the  flight,  sing- 
ing, etc.,  of  birds  (avis),  or  by  oth- 
er celestial  objects :  to  betoken. 
Augur  differs  in  meaning  from 
betoken :  persons  or  things  augur  ; 
things  only  betoken. 
author,  Lat.  auctor,  from  augere,  to  in- 
crease, to  produce  :  the  composer 
of  a  book. 

awe,  n.,  A.-S.  oga  or  aige,  dread :  rev- 
erential fear. 

S YN.  Awe  —  dread  —  reverence. 
Awe  is  a  mixed  feeling  of 
sublimity  and  fear  in  view  of 
something  great  or  terrible. 
Dread  is  strong  personal  fear 
in  view  of  something  terrible. 
Reverence  is  a  strong  senti- 
ment of  respect,  generally 
mingled  slightly  with  fear. 

bane,  v.,  A.-S.  bana,  destruction  :   to 

,poison.     The  verb  is  obsolete. 
barb,    contracted    from    Barbary :    a 

horse  of  the  Barbary  stock  noted 

for  speed. 
barbarian,  Lat.  barbarus,  Gr.  barbaros, 

foreign  :  an  uncivilized  person. 
bass,  Fr.  basse,  deep,  low  :    deep    or 

grave  in  sound. 

bay,  v.,  Fr.  aboyer,  to  bark  :  to  bark  at. 
beam,  A.-S.  beam,  a  beam  :  a  shaft  of 

rays. 

bedight.     See  dight. 
beholding,  beholden  (=  holden,  i.  e.  held 

or  bound  in  gratitude) :  obliged. 

"Beholding"  is  the  all  but  uni- 


GLOSSARY. 


623 


form  spelling  in  the  early  copies 
of  Shakespeare,  though  the  more 
correct  form  beholden  was  in  use 
before  that  poet's  time. 

bestead,  A.-S.  be  and  stead,  to  help,  as- 
sist :  to  help,  avail. 

betmxt,  A.-S.  betwixt,  from  be,  by,  and 
twig,  two  :  between. 

bombast,  Lat.  bombax,  the  cotton-plant. 
As  "  bombast"  was  originally  used 
for  stuffing  out  clothes,  it  passed 
by  metaphor  to  mean  swollen  or 
inflated  language. 

boon,  Lat.  bonus,  good,  lit.  that  which 
is  asked  as  a  benefit :  a  gift,  a 
grant. 

bower,  from  A.-S.  bur,  a  cottage.  In 
this  literal  sense  it  is  used  by 
Milton,  and  not  in  its  modern 
meaning  of  an  arbor.  It  had  also 
in  early  times  the  signification  of 
a  chamber  or  lodging-place  ;  and 
in  this  sense  the  word  is  used  by 
Gray. 

bridegroom,  A.-S.  brydguma,  a  man 
newly  married  or  about  to  be 
married. 

buffoon,  Fr.  bouffon,  from  bouffer,  to  puff 
out,  because  the  buffoons  puffed 
out  their  cheeks  :  a  mountebank, 
clown. 

bully,  v.,  O.  Eng.  bully,  to  bpil :  to  act 
the  part  of  a  bully,  a  blustering 
fellow. 

butler,  O.  Fr.  boutei flier,  from  fyouteille, 
a  bottle,  lit.  a  bottle-bearer  or  cup- 
bearer :  a  servant  or  officer  in  a 
household  whose  principal  busi- 
ness is  to  take  charge  of  the  liq- 
uors, plate,  etc. 

buttress,  Fr.  bouter,  to  push,  to  butt : 
a  projecting  support  to  the  ex- 
terior of  a  wall. 

cadence,  Lat.  cadentia,  from  cadere,  to 
fall :  a  regular  fall  or  modulation 
of  sound. 


calamity,  Lat.  calamitas,  loss,  misfort- 
une, injury,  lit.  the  injury  of  crops, 
from  calemus,  reed,  any  straw  of 
grain,  stalk,  blade  :  an  event  or  a 
disaster  producing  extensive  evil. 

calendar,  Lat.  calendarium,  an  account- 
book  :  an  arrangement  of  the  di- 
visions of  time. 

idid,  Lat.  candidus,  from  candere,  to 
be  of  a  glowing  white  :  fair,  just, 
impartial. 

canonize,  L.  Lat.  canonizare,  from  Lat. 
canon,  a  list  or  roll :  to  place  upon 
the  catalogue  of  saints. 

canopy,  Gr.  konopeion,  a  net  of  gauze  to 
keep  off  knats  (konops,  gnat) :  a 
covering  over  a  throne  or  over  a 
bed. 

cavalier,  Fr.  cavalier,  a  horseman,  from 
Lat.  caballus,  a  horse  :  a  knight,  a 
gallant  gentleman. 

censure,  v.,  Lat.  censere,  to  value  :  to 
form  or  express  a  judgment  of; 
to  criticise,  to  estimate.  In  this 
sense  used  by  Shakespeare,  but 
now  obsolete. 

Cerberus,  Lat.  Cerberus,  Gr.  fCerberos : 
a  monster  in  the  shape  of  a  dog 
guarding  the  entrance  into  the  in- 
fernal regions. 

chance,  «.,  through  Fr.  chance,  front 
Lat.  cadere,  to  fall :  hence  what 
befalls,  and  so  fate,  fortune. 

chapel.     See  chaplain. 

chaplain,  Fr.  chapelain,  L.  Lat.  capella- 
nus,  from  capella,  a  hood,  sacred 
vessel,  chapel.  It  is  said  that 
the  kings  of  France,  in  war,  car- 
ried into  the  field  St.  Martin's 
hat,  which  was  kept  in  a  tent  as 
a  precious  relic,  whence  the  place 
took  the  name  capella,  a  little  hat, 
and  the  priest  who  had  the  cus- 
tody of  the  tent  was  called  capel- 
lanus,  chaplain. 

charm,  Fr.  charme,  Lat.  carmen,  song, 
chant. 


624          MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


children,  A.-S.  did,  pi.  cildru,  cildra. 
The  word  is  a  curious  instance  of  a 
double  plural  (=  child  +  ra  +  en). 

cholera,  Gr.  cholera,  from  chole,  bile  :  a 
disease  characterized  by  vomiting 
and  purging. 

chorister,  Fr.  choriste,  a  singer  in  a 
choir,  from  Gr.  chores,  a  choir. 

Christmas,  from  Christ,  and  L.  Lat. 
missa,  mass  :  the  festival  of  the 
Christian  Church  observed  annu- 
ally on  December  25,  in  memory 
of  the  birth  of  Christ. 

cinctured,  adj.,  Lat.  cinctura,  a  girdle 
(from  cingere,  to  gird) :  having  a 
cincture  or  girdle. 

ciTil,  L.  Lat.  civilis,  from  civis,  a  citi- 
zen :  civilized,  refined.  This  use 
of  the  word,  as  applied  to  a  per- 
son, is  obsolete. 

clarion,  L.  Lat.  clario,  from  Lat.  clarus, 
clear,  from  its  shrill  sound :  a 
kind  of  trumpet  whose  note  is 
clear  and  shrill. 

clerk,  Lat.  clertcus,  priest :  a  parish  of- 
ficer in  the  Church  of  England. 

cloister,  O.  Fr.  cloistre,  Lat.  claustrum, 
from  claudere,  to  shut,  to  close  : 
a  covered  arcade  in  a  monastic 
or  collegiate  establishment  sur- 
rounding an  inner  quadrangular 
area  of  buildings ;  a  place  of 
learned  seclusion. 

coffer,  Fr.  coffre,  from  Lat.  cophinus, 
Gr.  kophinos,  a  basket,  a  chest  : 
treasury  or  funds. 

cognizance,  L.  Lat.  cognoscentia,  from 
Lat.  cognoscere  (con  and  noscere, 
to  know ),  to  be  acquainted  :  a 
badge  worn  by  a  retainer  or  de- 
pendent to  indicate  the  person  or 
party  to  which  he  belonged. 

coherent,  Lat.  co  for  con,  with,  and  hce- 
rere,  to  stick  :  cleaving  together, 
and  hence  connected  by  some  re- 
lation of  order. 

commercing,  Lat.  commercium,  from  com 


(  —  con ),  with,  and  merx,  mercis, 
merchandise :  holding  intercourse. 

commission,  Lat.  committere  (com  and 
mittere],  to  trust :  I.  The  act  of 
perpetrating ;  2.  Something  in- 
trusted to  a  person. 

commune,  Lat.  communicare,  to  com- 
municate :  to  converse  together 
familiarly. 

companion,  Fr.  compagnon,  from  L. 
Lat.  companium,  fellowship,  mess 
(com,  together,  panis,  bread)  :  an 
associate,  a  comrade. 

company,  the  state  of  being  a  compan- 
ion (which  see)  :  fellowship. 

compass,  v.,  L.  Lat.  compassus  (cum  and 
passus,  a  pace  or  step),  circle  :  to 
encircle,  to  environ. 

compensate,  Lat.  com  (con},  with,  and 
pendere,  pensum,  to  weigh  :  to 
balance,  to  make  equal  return. 

compensation.     See  compensate. 

conceit,  It.  concetto,  from  Lat.  conceptus, 
(con  and  capere,  to  take),  lit.  some- 
thing conceived :  used  by  John- 
son in  the  sense  of  quaint  fancy. 

congenial,  Lat.  congenialis,  partaking 
of  the  same  nature  :  kindred, 
sympathetic. 

consent,  Lat.  con,  together,  and  sentire, 
to  feel :  sympathy,  accord.  Used 
by  Milton  in  this  its  etymological 
sense. 

conspirator,  Lat.  conspirator,  from  con- 
spirare,  to  blow  together,  to  agree, 
to  plot :  one  who  conspires  with 
others  for  an  evil  purpose. 

contract,  Lat.  contractus,  from  con  and 
trahere,  to  draw  together :  an 
agreement,  a  covenant. 

conrincement,  a  hybrid  word  com- 
pounded of  a  Latin  root,  convince 
(from  convincere,  to  conquer),  and 
an  A.-S.  suffix.  It  is  now  super- 
seded by  the  form  conviction. 

cope,  A.-S.  ceapan,  to  trade :  to  requite. 

copse,  contraction  of  coppice^  from  O. 


GLOSSARY. 


Fr.  copeiz,  from  couper,  to  cut,  be- 
cause originally  a  wood  of  small 
growth  cut  for  fuel :  a  wood  of 
small  growth. 

corn,  A.-S.  corn,  grain:  used  by  Bun- 
yan  in  the  sense  of  wheat. 

coronal,  Lat.  coronalis,  belonging  to  the 
crown  (corona) :  a  garland. 

coronet,  Lat.  corona,  a  crown  :  an  in- 
ferior crown  worn  by  noblemen. 

corpse,  Lat.  corpus,  lit.  a  body,  whether 
living  or  dead  :  the  dead  body  of 
a  human  being.  In  the  first  folio 
of  Shakespeare  the  word  is  spelled 
corpes.  Another  form  of  the  word, 
still  used,  is  corse. 

corse.     See  corpse. 

coyert,  n.,  O.  Fr.  cavrir,  to  cover  (cov- 
ert, covered) :  a  place  where  ani- 
mals hunted  in  the  chase  find 
cover. 

crafty,  A.-S.  craft,  strength,  art:  used 
by  Bacon  in  the  sense  of  merely 
practical. 

crew,  O.  Eng.  crue,  from  Fr.  crue,  in- 
crease or  gathering.  The  primi- 
tive meaning  is  company,  and  in 
this  sense  it  is  used  by  Milton. 
In  modern  usage,  except  when 
employed  to  designate  a  ship's 
company,  it  usually  has  a  deroga- 
tory implication. 

crosier,  Fr.  croix  (  —  Lat.  crux),  a 
cross  :  the  official  staff  of  an 
archbishop,  terminating  at  the 
top  in  a  cross. 

crusade,  Fr.  croisade,  from  croix  (crux}, 
the  cross :  a  military  expedition 
undertaken  in  the  Middle  Ages  to 
recover  the  Holy  Land  from  the 
Mohammedans.  The  crusaders 
wore  a  cross  on  their  breasts. 

crusader.     See  crusade. 

cucumber,  O.  Fr.  coucombre  (now  con- 
combre),  Lat.  cucumis,  gen.  cucu- 
meris :   a  well-known  plant   and 
its  fruit,  of  the  genus  cucumis. 
40 


625 


curfew,  Fr.  couvrir,  to  cover,  and  feu, 
fire :  the  bell-ringing  at  nightfall 
practised  in  olden  times  as  a 
signal  to  cover  fires,  extinguish 
lights,  and  retire  to  rest. 

curiously,  Lat.  curiosus,  careful,  from 
cura,  care  :  carefully.  In  this 
sense  it  is  used  by  Bacon.  The 
modern  meanings  are  extensions 
of  this  primary  signification :  thus, 
to  be  curious  about  a  thing  is  to 
be  careful  or  anxious  to  learn 
about  it,  and  a  curious  object  is 
one  that  excites  careful  attention. 

cynosure,  from  Lat.  cynosura  (Gr.  kuno- 
soura,  lit.  dog's  tail),  the  ancient 
name  for  the  constellation  of  the 
Lesser  Bear.  To  this,  as  contain- 
ing the  pole-star,  the  eyes  of  mar- 
iners are  directed  ;  and  hence  the 
meaning  of  cynosure,  as  denoting 
any  object  that  strongly  attracts 
attention. 

decent,  Lat.  decens,  decentis,  becoming, 
modest :  used  by  Milton  in  its 
etymological  sense. 

decrepitude,  Lat.  decreptus,  lit.  noised 
out,  noiseless,  applied  to  old  peo- 
ple who  creep  about  quietly,  from 
de  and  crepare,  crepitare,  to  make 
a  noise,  to  rattle  :  the  broken  state 
produced  by  decay  and  the  infirm- 
ities of  age. 

deliberation,  Lat.  deliberare,  to  weigh, 
from  de  and  libra,  a  balance : 
careful  consideration. 

demean,  Lat.  minare,  to  drive :  to  be- 
have. This  is  the  proper  use  of 
the  word.  The  employment  of  it 
as  synonymous  with  to  lower,  de- 
grade, is  founded  on  a  mistaken 
notion  that  the  word  is  connected 
with  mean,  which  it  nowise  is. 

demure,  O.  Fr.  de  (bonnes)  murs  (=Fr. 
mceurs),  lit.  of  good  manners :  dec- 
orous. 


626         MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


dessert,  Fr.  dessert,  from  desservire,  to 
remove  from  table :  the  last  course 
at  table. 

deviate,  Lat.  deviare,  deviatum  (via, 
way),  to  go  out  of  one's  way :  to 
wander. 

diary,  Lat.  diariunt,  from  dies,  a  day :  a 
daily  record. 

diastole,  Gr.  diastole,  from  dia,  through, 
and  stellein :  the  dilatations  of  the 
heart  and  arteries. 

dickens,  a  contraction  of  the  diminu- 
tive devilkins. 

digest,  Lat.  digerere,  digestum,  to  sep- 
arate, to  dissolve,  from  di  (=  dis), 
apart,  and  gerere,  to  bear :  to  ar- 
range methodically. 

dight,  A.-S.  dihtan,  to  arrange  or  ar- 
ray :  dressed,  adorned. 

dilapidation,  Lat.  dilapidare,  to  scatter 
like  stones,  from  di  (=  dis)  and 
lapis,  gen.  lapidis,  a  stone  :  state 
of  being  reduced  to  decay. 

dint,  A.-S.  dynt,  stroke,  blow :  impres- 
sion. 

discourage,  prefix  dis,  with  a  privative 
force,  and  Fr.  courage,  from  Fr. 
cceur,  Lat.  cor,  the  heart :  to  dis- 
hearten. 

discourse,  v.,  Lat.  discurrere,  discursum, 
to  run  to  and  fro :  to  carry  on  the 
act  of  reasoning. 

discover,  Fr.  decouvrir,  to  uncover ; 
hence  primarily  to  show,  and  sec- 
ondarily to  reveal,  to  find  out : 
used  by  Bunyan  in  its  primary 
sense. 

dlssidence,  'L^i.dissidere,  from  dis,  apart, 
and  seder e,  to  sit,  hence  to  dis- 
agree :  disagreement,  dissent. 

ditty,  A.-S.  diht,  said,  repeated:  a  lit- 
tle poem  intended  to  be  sung. 

divinity,  Lat.  divinitas,  from  divinus, 
deus,  God :  used  by  Addison  in 
the  sense  of  theology,  of  which 
word  it  is  etymologically  an  exact 
synonym  (Lat.  deus=Gr.  theos). 


document,  Lat.  documentum,  from  do- 
cere,  to  teach :  anything  furnish- 
ing proof  or  evidence. 

dole,  A.-S.  d<zlan,  to  divide  :  to  deal 
out  in  small  portions. 

dualism,  Lat.  dualis,  from  duo,  two  : 
doubleness. 

dudgeon,  Welsh  dygen,  anger,  grudge  : 
discord. 

ecstasy,  Gr.  ekstasis  (from  ex,  out,  and 
istanai,  to  set),  a  .rapt  condition 
of  mind :  rapture. 

effigy,  Lat.  effigies,  from  e  (=  ex)  and 
fingere,  to  shape  out :  the  image 
or  likeness  of  a  person. 

effluvium,  pi.  effluvia,  Lat.  effluere  (from 
ef  for  ex,  out,  and  fluere,  to  flow)  : 
subtle  or  invisible  emanation. 

endorser,  Lat.  dorsum,  the  back  :  one 
who  writes  on  the  back  of  a 
promissory  note,  as  evidence  of 
responsibility. 

ensign,  from  Lat.  insigne  (in  and  sig- 
iium,  a  sign)  :  a  badge  or  flag. 

enthusiast,  Gr.  enthousiastes,  from  en, 
in,  and  theos,  a  god,  lit.  one  who 
believed  himself  moved  by  a  di- 
vinity :  one  whose  mind  is  wholly 
possessed  by  what  engages  it ;  a 
zealot. 

envy,  Lat.  invidia,  from  invidere,  to 
look  with  enmity:  used  by  Shake- 
speare in  the  specific  signification 
of  malice,  ill-will. 

epicure,  from  the  name  Epicurus,  the 
famous  Greek  philosopher  who 
assumed  pleasure  to  be  the  high- 
est good  :  a  follower  of  Epi- 
curus. 

epitaph,  Gr.  epi,  on,  and  taphos,  a  tomb : 
an  inscription  on  a  monument  in 
memory  of  the  dead. 

epitome,  Gr.  epitome,  from  epitemnein, 
to  cut  on  the  surface  :  an  abridg- 
ment, a  compendium. 

equivocation,     Lat.     equivocare,     from 


GLOSSARY. 


627 


aquus,  equal,  and  vox,  sound  or 
voice:  ambiguity  of  speech. 

errant,  Lat.  errans,  errant 'is ,  from  er- 
rare,  to  wander  :  wandering. 

esquire,  Fr.  ecuyer,  from  escu, eat,  shield, 
a  shield  -  bearer,  armor  -  bearer  : 
the  squire  of  a  knight. 

ethereal  (Lat.  tether,  from  Gr.  aithein, 
to  burn  or  blaze) :  pertaining  to 
the  ether,  or  celestial  region ;  ce- 
lestial. 

Eumenides,  Gr.  eumenides,  the  aveng- 
ing deities. 

Euphrosyne,  Gr.  Euphrosune,  from  eu- 
phrainein,  to  delight :  one  of  the 
three  Graces. 

exaggeration,  Lat.  exaggeratio,  from  ex 
and  aggerare,  to  heap  up :  a  rep- 
resentation beyond  the  truth  ;  a 
hyperbole. 

exclusionist,  Lat.  excludere,  exclusum, 
to  exclude,  from  ex  and  claudere, 
to  shut  out :  one  who,  etc. 

exility,  Lat.  exilis,  slender,  thin :  fine- 
ness, thinness.  This  word,  used 
by  Dr.  Johnson,  is  now  obsolete. 

exit,  lit.  he  goes  out  (3d  pers.  sing, 
pres.  of  Lat.  v.  exire,  to  go  out)  : 
the  departure  of  a  player  from 
the  stage,  when  he  has  performed 
his  part. 

expatiate,  Lat.  expatiari  (ex,  out,  and 
spatiari,  to  walk  about) :  to  move 
at  large. 

expert,  Laf.  experiri,  expertus,  to  try  or 
prove :  ready. 

expiate,  Lat.  expiare,  expiatum,  to  pu- 
rity with  sacred  rites,  from  pius, 
pious,  devout :  to  atone  for. 

extenuate,  Lat.  extemiare,  from  ex,  out 
of,  from,  and  tenuare,  to  make 
thin,  from  tenuis,  thin:  to  lessen, 
to  palliate. 

fabricate,  Lat.  fabricare,  to  make,  from 
faber,  an  artificer  :  to  devise 
falsely. 


fain,  adv.,  K.-$.fagen,  glad :  gladly. 

fanatic,  Lat.  fanaticus,  inspired  by  di- 
vinity, ivorafatium,  a  fane  or  tem- 
ple :  one  who  indulges  wild  and 
extravagant  religious  notions. 

fealty,  \A.\..fidelitas,  fidelity.  In  feudal 
times  fidelity  to  one's  lord  ;  now 
loyalty  to  a  superior  power.  (See 
homage.} 

feature,  Lat.  factura,  a  making,  from 
facere,  to  make :  lit.  form, "  make," 
or  structure. 

fellow,  A.-S.  felaw,  horn,  fylgau,  to  fol- 
low :  a  companion. 

fetich,  Portuguese  feitico.  sorcery, 
charm,  from  Lat.  facticius,  made 
by  art :  a  material  thing,  living 
or  dead,  which  is  made  the  object 
of  superstitious  worship,  as  among 
certain  African  tribes. 
'  fictile,  Lat.  _/&•////>,  from  finger e,  fie  turn, 
to  shape :  manufactured  by  the 
potter. 

fiend,  A.-S.  fiend  or  feond,  from  fian, 
to  hate,  and  hence  lit.  the  hating 
one :  a  demon. 

flguline,  Lat.  figulus,  a  potter,  from 
fingere,  to  shape :  a  piece  of  pot- 
tery representing  some  natural 
object. 

flambeau,  Yr.flamer,  to  flame,  Lat^z- 
mula,  a  little  flame  :  a  torch. 

florin,  It.  farina,  a  Florentine  coin,  with 
a  lily  on  it,  from  It.  fare  (=  Lat. 
fas,  faris),  flower :  a  silver  coin 
of  Florence  first  struck  in  the 
twelfth  century. 

focus,  Lat.  focus,  hearth,  fire-place :  a 
central  point ;  a  point  of  concen- 
tration. 

fogy  (uncertain  etymology) :  a  dull  old 
fellow. 

folio,  ablative  of  Lat.  folium,  a  leaf  or 
sheet,  and  lit.  ///  a  leaf  or  sheet 
(once  folded):  a  book  made  of 
sheets  of  paper  each  folded  but 
once. 


628         MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


fond,  A.-S.  fonne,  to  be  foolish,  to 
dote :  foolish. 

forlorn,  k.-'s.forloren,  p.  p.  of  forleosan, 
to  lose  :  deserted,  abandoned. 

fretted,  A.-S.  fratu,  ornament :  orna- 
mented with  fretwork,  or  raised 
work. 

frieze,  originally  a  woollen  cloth  or 
stuff  from  Friesland :  a  coarse 
woollen  cloth. 

frolic,  adj.,  Ger.  frolih,  frohlich,  joyful : 
gay,  merry. 

frolic, -v.,  to  be  gay  or  merry. 

frounce,  Fr.  froncer,  to  wrinkle :  to 
curl  or  frizzle  the  hair. 

fuliginous,  Lat.  fuligo,  soot :  smoky, 
dark,  dusky. 

fustian,  L.  Lat.  fusiiannm,  so  called 
from  Fostat  or  Fossat,  i.  e.  Cairo, 
where  it  was  made  :  a  kind  of 
coarse  twilled  cotton  stuff. 

gambol,  Fr.  gambiller,  from  gambe  ( =• 
jambe ),  the  leg,  to  kick  about : 
a  skipping  or  leaping  about  in 
frolic. 

garbage  (O.  Eng.  garbash,  properly 
that  which  is  purged  or  cleansed 
away),  from  O.  Fr.  garber,  to  make 
neat :  lit.  the  bowels  of  an  animal ; 
hence  the  refuse  animal  and  vege- 
table matter  from  a  kitchen. 

garish,  A.-S.  gearn,  prepared,  showy : 
dazzling. 

glebe,  Lat.  gleba,  clod,  ground  :  soil, 
ground. 

gossip,  A.-S.  god,  God,  and  sib,  rela- 
tion ;  a  relation  or  sponsor  in 
baptism  :  an  idle  tattler. 

grain,  Lat.  granum,  the  seed-like  form 
of  an  insect,  from  which  red  dyes 
were  prepared :  used  by  Milton 
in  the  sense  of  a  shade  of  pur 
pie. 

grandiloquence,  Lat.  grandis,  grand,  and 
loqui,  to  speak :  the  use  of  lofty 
words  or  phrases ;  bombast. 


gratis,  adv.,  contracted  from  Lat.  gra- 
ins, out  of  favor  or  kindness :  for 
nothing. 

grotesque,  Fr.  grotesque.  It.  grottesa,  lit. 
like  the  figures  found  in  grot- 
tos :  whimsical ;  of  extravagant 
or  irregular  form. 

gust,  n.,  Lat.  gustns,  taste :  gratifica 
tion,  enjoyment.  (Obsolete.) 

habit,  Lat.  habitus,  state  or  dress  (from 
habere,  to  have,  be  in  a  condi- 
tion) :  used  in  the  plural  to  sig- 
nify garments,  dress. 

hale,  v.,  to  drag.  The  modern  form  is 
haul ;  the  word  is  connected  with 
hail,  to  call,  and  so  to  fetch.  The 
Dutch  halen  has  both  meanings. 

hamlet,  A.-S.  ham,  home,  house,  and 
let,  the  diminutive  termination  :  a 
small  village. 

hassock,  n.,  Scottish  hassock,  a  large 
round  turf  used  as  a  seat :  a 
thick  mat  for  kneeling  on  in 
church. 

hautboy,  «.,  Fr.  hautbois  (that  is,  haut, 
high,  and  bois.  wood) :  an  oboe,  or 
musical  instrument  of  the  clarinet 
type. 

hearse,  Fr.  herse,  a  harrow ;  hence  a 
kind  of  candlestick  in  the  form 
of  a  harrow,  having  branches 
filled  with  lights  and  placed  at 
the  head  of  graves  or  cenotaphs  ; 
whence  hearse  came  to  be  used 
for  the  grave,  coffin,  or  chest  con- 
taining the  dead. 

heaven,  A.-S.  hefan,\.Q  heave,  and  hence 
lit.  that  which  is  heaved  or  arched 
over  us :  used  by  Pope  as  a 
synonym  of  God. 

heraldry,  O.  Fr.  herald,  from  Ger.  he- 
rold,  composed  of  two  roots  signi- 
fying one  who  serves  the  army  : 
the  art  of  recording  genealogies 
and  blazoning  arms  or  ensigns 
armorial. 


GLOSSARY. 


629 


hereditary,  Lat.  heres,  heredis,  an  heir  : 
descended  by  inheritance. 

hight,  p.  p.  of  A.-S.  katan,  to  be  called : 
was  named. 

hobgoblin,  hob,  originally  an  abbrevia- 
tion of  robin  (Robin  Goodfellovv, 
a  domestic  sprite),  a.ndgol>tttt,  from 
L.  Lat.  gobelinus,  a  mischievous 
knave  ( Ger.  Kobold )  :  a  frightful 
apparition ;  an  imp. 

homage,  through  Fr.  homage,  from  Lat. 
homo,  a  man.  "  Homo "  under 
the  feudal  system  had  the  sense 
of  vassal" :  lit.  the  state  of  being  a 
vassal  under  a  lord,  and  hence 
reverential  submission. 

Homage  signifies  reverential  submis- 
sion to  a  superior  ;  fealty  denotes 
a  faithful  adherence  to  the  obli- 
gations we  owe  to  superior  au- 
thority. "  We  pay  our  homage  to 
men  of  pre-eminent  usefulness  and 
virtue,  and  profess  our  fealty  to  the 
principles  by  which  they  have  been 
guided." — WEBSTER. 

homicide,  n.,  Lat.  homicidiicm,  from 
homo,  a  man,  and  ceedere,  to  kill  : 
lit.  manslaughter  (though,  if  felo- 
nious, it  may  be  murder).  By 
Milton  it  is  used  metaphorically. 

homily,  Gr.  homilia,  communion,  ser- 
mon :  a  serious  discourse. 

honest,  Lat.  honestus  (one  of  the  mean- 
ings of  which  is  beautiful],  from 
honor  ( one  of  the  meanings  of 
which  is  bea^lty} :  used  by  Dry- 
den  in  the  special  sense  of  beau- 
tiful, handsome. 

humor,  Lat.  humor,  from  Inimere,  to  be 
moist ;  that  is,  lit.,  the  fluids  of 
the  body.  As  the  state  of  mind 
was  in  old  times  believed  to  de- 
pend on  these  fluids,  the  word 
acquired  the  force  of  disposition, 
temper,  mood,  with  various  allied 
meanings  ;  used  by  Bacon  in  the 
sense  of  disposition,  whim. 

husbandry,  A.-S.  hiisbanda,  the  master 


of  a  house,  through  v.  husband,  to 
direct  with  prudence :  manage- 
ment, thrift. 

hussy,  contracted  from  huswife,  house- 
wife :  an  ill-behaved  woman  or 
girl. 

impediment,  Lat.  impedimentum,  from 
im  (—iii),  z.\\&  pes,  pedis,  the  foot : 
obstruction. 

impugn,  Lat.  itnpugnare,  from'  im  ( = 
in),  and  pugnare,  to  fight :  to  call 
in  question,  gainsay. 

incongruous,  Lat.  in,  not,  and  congruus 
(  =  congruous),  from  congruere,  to 
agree  :  not  befitting,  unsuitable. 

inert,  Lat.  iners,  from  in,  not,  and  ars, 
lit.  unskilled :  sluggish. 

infection,  Lat.  infectio,  from  inficere, 
to  stain,  infect  :  contamination. 
Contagion  means  spreading  by  in- 
tercourse ;  while  infection  signi- 
fies a  more  hidden  and  diffusive 
power. 

infinite,  Lat.  infinitus  (from  /";/,  with' 
out,  and  _/?«*>,  end) :  without  end, 
unlimited. 

insect,  Lat.  insedum,  from  insecare,  in- 
sectum,  to  cut  in  ;  originally  given 
to  small  animals  whose  bodies 
seem  to  be  cut  in,  or  almost  di- 
vided. Coleridge  wittily  defined 
the  insect  as  "  life  in  sections" 

insult,  v.,  Lat.  insultare,  from  in,  and 
salire,  to  leap  upon  :  to  affront. 

insuperable,  Lat.  insuperabilis,  from  su- 
per, over :  not  superable,  not  to 
be  overpassed. 

integrate,  Lat.  integrare,  to  make  entire, 
from  integer,  entire  :  to  realize 
completely,  to  give  full  expres- 
sion ;  to  make  one  with. 

intenerate,  Lat.  in,  and  tener,  soft,  ten- 
der :  to  make  tender,  to  soften. 
Rare. 

inter,  Lat.  in,  in,  and  terra,  the  earth  ; 
to  bury,  to  inhume. 


630 


MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


labyriutli,  Lat.  labyrinthus,  from  Gr, 
laburinthos:  any  object  or  arrange- 
ment of  an  intricate  or  involved 
form. 

landscape,  A.-S.  landscape,  from  land, 
land,  and  scipe  (=  suffix  ship], 
shape,  form  :  a  portion  of  land  or 
territory  which  the  eye  can  com- 
prehend in  a  single  view,  includ- 
ing all  the  objects  it  contains. 

lantern,  Fr.  lanieme,  Lat.  lanterna,  la- 
terna :  something  enclosing  a  light. 
Sometimes  spelled  lanthorn. 
led  to  the  formation  of  a  consider-  |  latent,  Lat.  latens,  latentis  (pres.  p.  of 
able  number  of  new  feminine  forms  j  /fl/         tQ  ,je  hjd)  .   hjdd        sgcret 

of  nouns  denoting  occupations;  but  ;  -11 

"inventress"  presents  us  with  a    legacy,  Lat.  legare,  to  appoint  by  last 

will :  a  bequest. 

levity,  Lat.  levis,  light,  trifling  :  light 
behavior. 

lie,  v.,  to  reside — a  use  of  the  verb  not 
now  current. 

lineage,  Fr.  ligne  (=Lat  lined),  a  line, 
a  race  :  descent  in  a  line  from  a 
common  ancestor. 

livid,  Lat.  lividus,  from  liver e,  to  be  of 
a  bluish  color :  black  and  blue, 
of  a  lead  color,  discolored. 

lo,  inter/.,  A.-S.  Id,  from  imperative  of 
look:  behold. 

lubbar,  equivalent  to  lubber,  from  lob: 
an  unwieldy  fellow. 


interrupt,  Lat.  interrumpere,  interrup- 
tion, to  break  in  upon  :  to  disturb. 

intuition,  Lat.  intuitio,  insight,  from  in, 
and  tuere,  to  look  upon  :  a  truth 
discovered  by  direct  cognition. 
It  is  an  exact  etymological  syn- 
onym of  A.-S.  insight. 

inundation.     See  inundate. 

inventress,  Lat.  inventrix  (in  and  •ve- 
nire, to  bring  into  use) :  the  fem- 
inine of  inventor. 

The   enlargement  of  the  sphere   of 
woman's  work  in  modern  times  has 


noun  of  this  class  coined  nearly  two 
hundred  years  ago  and  yet  not  now 
in  use. 

irksome,  Scotch  irk,  to  tire  or  weary  : 
wearisome. 


jenny  (spinning),  said  to  have  been  so 
called  by  Arkwright  after  his  wife, 
Jenny ;  but  according  to  a  grand- 
son of  Jacob  Hargreaves,  the  in- 
ventor of  the  spinning-jenny,  the 
word  is  a  corruption  of  gin,  a  con- 
traction of  engine  :  a  machine  for 
spinning  used  in  manufactories. 

journey,  v.,  Yr.journee,  a  day's  task  or 
journey,  from  Lat.  diurnus,  daily, 
dies,  a  day :  t'o  travel  from  place 
to  place. 

joy,  v.,  for  enjoy.     (Obsolete.) 

jubilee,  \\zb.ydbe~l,  the  blast  of  a  trum- 
pet, and  the  grand  sabbatical  year 
which  was  announced  by  sound 
of  trumpet :  festivity,  joyfulness. 

Junket  (written  z\so  juncate],  Lat./#«- 
cata,  cream  -  cheese  ;  and  thence 
extended  to  mean  any  kind  of 
delicacy.  Not  in  use. 

kerchiefed,  Fr.  couvrir,  to  cover,  and 
chef,  the  head = hooded,  covered. 
bye  --kine,  O.  Eng.  pi.  of  cow. 


madding,  A.-S.  mad,  to  be  furious  :  tur- 
bulent, furious. 

magician,  Gr.  magikos,  priestly,  from  an 
Oriental  word  signifying  priest : 
one  skilled  in  magic. 

magnetism,  Gr.  lithos  magnetes,  i.  e., 
Magnesian  stone,  from  Magnesia, 
a  country  in  Thessaly :  the  agent 
or  force  in  nature  which  gives 
rise  to  the  phenomena  of  attrac- 
tion, polarity,  etc.,  exhibited  by 
the  loadstone  and  other  magnetic 
bodies. 

manifesto,  It.  manifesto,  from  Lat.  mani- 
festus,  that  which  is  clearly  visi- 


GLOSSARY. 


ble :  a  public  declaration,  usual- 
ly of  a  prince  or  sovereign,  show- 
ing his  intentions  respecting  some 
act  contemplated  or  done  by 
him. 

mansion,  Lat.  mansio,  a  dwelling,  from 
manere,  to  remain  :  an  abode, 
usually  of  some  pretension,  but 
not  so  employed  in  Goldsmith. 

marquis,  Fr.  marquis,  from  Ger.  mark, 
a  border:  a  nobleman  of  a  certain 
rank. 

martyrdom,  martyr  and  A.-S.  suffix  dom 
( martyr,  from  Lat.  martyr,  Gr. 
martur,  a  witness) :  the  death  of 
a  martyr. 

massacre,  n.,  through  Fr.  massacre,  and 
ultimately  from  Ger.  metzgern, 
metzgen,  to  butcher :  the  killing 
of  human  beings  by  indiscrimi- 
nate slaughter.  Used  metaphor- 
ically by  Milton. 

massy,  relating  to  a  mass. 

mast,  A.-S.  mast,  from  Goth,  ma  fan,  to 
nourish  (and  allied  to  meat] :  the 
fruit  of  the  oak  or  beech,  or  other 
forest  trees. 

mausoleum,  Gr.  Mausolus,  king  of  C aria, 
to  whom  his  widow  erected  a 
stately  monument :  a  magnificent 
tomb. 

maze,  A.-S.  mase,  a  whirlpool :  a  lab- 
yrinth, an  intricate  net-work  of 
paths. 

mazy,  maze-like. 

meagre,  A.-S.  mager,  Fr.  tnaigre,  Lat. 
macer,  lean  :  lean,  thin. 

medallion,  Fr.  medallion,  from  L.  Lat. 
medalla,  a  medal. 

meet,  A.-S.  gemet,  from  metan,  to  meet, 
find,  come  together :  fit,  proper. 

melancholy,  Gr.  melas,  black,  and  chole, 
gall,  bile :  a  gloomy  state  of  mind 
— a  condition  which  at  one  time 
was  supposed  to  result  from  a  su- 
perabundance of  bile. 

mercenary,  Lat.  mercenarius,  from  mer- 


ces,  wages,  reward :  acting  for  re- 
ward. 

mercurial,  Lat.  mercurialis,  having  the 
qualities  fabled  to  belong  to  Mer- 
cury :  active,  sprightly,  change- 
able. 

mere,  adj.,  A.-S.  mare : .  unmixed,  and 
hence  entire,  complete,  absolute. 
In  this  sense  it  is  generally  used 
by  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  and  oth- 
er Elizabethan  writers.  Its  mod- 
ern meaning  is  a  secondary  one  : 
since  mere  originally  signifies  un- 
mixed, it  has  come  by  inference 
to  mean  nothing  but,  such  and  no 
more,  bare. 

methinks,  compound  of  me  (=to  me), 
the  indirect  object,  and  thinks, 
seems,  from  the  A.-S.  verb  thin- 
can,  to  seem.  The  subject  of  this 
so  -  called  impersonal  verb  is  the 
clause  following. 

mew,  v.,  through  Fr.  m  uer,  from  Lat. 
mutare,  to  change  :  to  moult,  as  a 
bird  its  feathers  :  used  by  Mil- 
ton in  the  special  sense  of  renew- 
ing by  moulting. 

microscopic,  resembling  a  microscope, 
and  this  from  Gr.  mikros,  small, 
and  skopein,  to  view. 

minister,  n.,  Lat.  minus,  less,  lit.  a 
subordinate,  a  servant. 

minister,  v.,  Lat.  ministrare,  to  attend, 
to  serve  :  to  afford. 

minnow,  Fr.  menu,  from  Lat.  minutus, 
small,  minute  :  a  very  small  fresh- 
water fish. 

mitre,  Lat.  and  Gr.  mitra,  head-band, 
turban  :  a  cover  for  the  head, 
worn  on  solemn  occasions  by 
bishops,  etc. 

moiety,  Fr.  moitit,  Lat.  medietas,  from 
medius,  middle,  half:  one  of  two 
equal  parts. 

moil,  A.-S.  mdl,  spot,  lit.  the  defile- 
ment caused  by  severe  labor  : 
drudgery. 


632 


MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE. 


mortal,  Lat.  mortalis,  from  mors,  mor- 
tis, death :  pertaining  to  one's 
death. 

mosaic,  ;/.,  Gr.  mouseios,  belonging  to 
the  Muses :  inlaid  work. 

raought,  obsolete  past  tense  of  magan, 
to  be  able :  might. 

mural,  Lat.  tnurus,  a  wall :  pertaining 
to  a  wall. 

muse,  «.,  connected  with  Lat.  musa, 
Gr.  mousa,  from  maein,  to  seek 
out:  lit,  in  the  state  of  deep 
thought  required  by  study  or  the 
pursuit  of  the  Muses. 

music,  «.,  Gr.  mousa,  a  muse,  mousike 
—  ( supply  techne,  art )  —  lit.  the 
Muses'  art,  any  art  over  which 
the  Muses  presided :  and  then 
narrowed  down  to  mean  that  par- 
ticular science  that  relates  to  har- 
monical  sounds. 

myriad,  Gr.  murios,  numberless  (pi. 
mtirioi=ten  thousand):  an  im- 
mense number. 

napkin,  dim.  of  Fr.  nappe,  a  table-cloth 
or  cloth,  from  Lat.  mappa,  nap- 
kin :  a  handkerchief.  In  this 
sense  used  by  Shakespeare,  but 
now  obsolete. 

Nazarene,  from  Nazareth  :  a  term  of 
contempt  applied  by  Mohamme- 
dans to  Christians. 

nectareous,  Gr.  nektar,  the  drink  of  the 
gods  :  delicious. 

Nemesis,  Gr.  Nemesis,  a  Greek  goddess 
personifying  moral  reverence  for 
law. 

nidus,  Lat.  nidus,  a  nest :  a  repository 
for  the  eggs  of  birds,  insects,  and 
the  like  ;  a  nest. 

nightingale,  A.-S.  nihtegale,  from  niht, 
night,  and  galan,  to  sing :  a  small 
bird  that  sings  at  night. 

nod,  -v.,  allied  to  Lat.  nutare,  to  nod 
the  head  ;  numen,  a  nod,  and  fig- 
uratively the  divine  will  as  indi- 


cated by  a  nod.     In  this  sense  it 
is  used  by  Dryden. 

noise,  «.,  Fr.  noise,  strife,  noise.  A  set 
or  company,  as  of  musicians,  and 
by  Milton,  as  of  birds  ;  a  use  now 
obsolete. 

obscene,  Lat.  obscenus,  foul,  filthy:  foulv 
filthy. 

obscure,  Lat.  obscurus.     See  lex. 

obsequies,  pi.,  Lat.  obsequia  (pb  and  se- 
quor,  to  follow) :  acts  of  deference 
or  devotion.  In  this  literal  sense 
it  is  used  by  Milton. 

odorous,  Lat.  odor,  odor,  smell :  having 
a  sweet  odor,  fragrant. 

offence,  Lat.  qffensa,  from  offendere,  to 
thrust,  dash  against  :  used  by 
Shakespeare  in  the  sense  of  the 
state  of  being  offended. 

opinion, .  Lat.  opinio,  from  opinari,  to 
think:  that  which  is  opined,  be- 
lief. 

Opinion  is  a  belief  founded  on  a  low 
degree  of  moral  evidence — a  belief 
stronger  than  impression,  less  than 
positive  knowledge. 

optic,  «.,  Gr.  optikos,  relating  to  vision  : 
an  organ  of  sight,  an  eye.  In  this 
sense  generally  used  in  the  plural. 

oracle,  Lat.  oraculum,  from  orare,  to 
speak  :  the  revelations  delivered 
by  God  to  prophets. 

orchard,  A.-S.  ortgeard,  an  herb-yard  : 
an  enclosure  of  fruit-trees. 

overmatch,  lit.  more  than  a  match  :  a 
superior. 

oxygen,  Gr.  oxus,  sharp,  acid,  and  ge- 
nein,  to  generate ;  so  called  be- 
cause originally  supposed  to  be 
an  essential  part  of  every  acid . 
one  of  the  gaseous  elements. 

pad,  A.-S.  pad,  padh  (connected  with 
path] :  an  easy-paced  horse. 

pale,  Fr.  pal,  Lat.  palus,  a  stake :  an 
enclosure. 


GLOSSARY. 


pall,  A.-S.  pall,  Lat.  pallium,  a  cloak 
or  cover  :  a  large  black  cloth 
thrown  over  a  coffin  at  a  funeral. 

palpable,  Lat.  palpabilis,  from  palpare, 
to  stroke  or  touch  softly :  made 
manifest. 

panoply,  Gr.  panoplia,  from  pas,  pan, 
all,  and  oplon,  implement  of  war  : 
a  full  suit  of  defensive  armor. 

pansy,  Fr.  penser,  to  think  :  heart's- 
ease. 

paradise,  Gr.  paradises,  from  Persian 
firdaus,  a  pleasure-garden. 

parson,  Lat.  persona  (a  person,  that  is, 
<7/~the  church) :  a  clergyman. 

partial,  Lat.  partialis,  from  pars,  par- 
tis, a  part :  affecting  a  part  only. 

passage,  Fr.  passage,  L.  Lat.  passagium, 
from  passus,  a  step,  lit.  the  act  of 
passing :  a  pass  or  encounter. 

peasantry,  Eng.  peasant,  Fr.  paysan, 
from  pays  (—  Lat.  pagus],  the 
country  :  the  body  of  country 
people  among  European  nations. 

pedant,  contracted  from  \\..pedagogante, 
from  Lat.  pcedagogare,  to  educate 
(Gr.  pais,  a  boy). 

Pegasus,  Gr.  Pegasos :  a  winged  horse 
of  the  Muses. 

pendent,  Lat.  pendere,  to  hang :  a  hang- 
ing ornament  on  roofs,  ceilings, 
etc.,  much  used  in  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. 

perennial,  Lat.  perennialis,  from  per, 
throughout,  and  annus,  the  year  : 
everlasting. 

perspicuity,  Lat.  perspicttus,  from  per- 
spicere,  to  look  through  (per  and 
specere] :  state  of  being  perspicu- 
ous or  clear.  See  Definitions,  p. 
xx. 

port,  Lat.  apertus,  open,  free :  brisk, 
lively.  This  use  of  the  word  is 
obsolete  :  pert  has  degenerated 
to  mean  too  free,  and  hence  for- 
ward, saucy. 

petrifaction.     See  petrific. 


633 

petriflc,  Lat.  and  Gr.  petra,  a  rock  or 
stone :  having  the  power  to  con- 
vert into  stone,  to  petrify. 

petrify.     See  petrific. 

picturesque,  Fr.  pittoresque,  from  Lat. 
pictura  (pingere,  to  paint)  :  ex- 
pressing that  peculiar  kind  of 
beauty  which  is  agreeable  in  a 
picture,  natural  or  artificial. 

piebald,  for  pie  -  balled,  from  pie,  the 
parti-colored  bird,  and  ball:  di- 
versified in  color. 

pied,  adj.,  from  Fr.//>,  the  parti-colored 
bird,  the  magpie :  hence  varie- 
gated in  color. 

pigmy,  Gr.  pugtne,  the  fist :  a  dwarf. 
(Spelled  also/ji'^wj/.) 

pilgrim,  Lat.  peregrimis,  a  foreigner, 
from  per,  through,  and  agere,  to 
go :  a  traveller. 

pinion,  Lat.  pinna, penna,  feather,  wing  : 
a  wing. 

pinnacle,  Lat.  pinnacuhtm,  from  pinna, 
feather,  pinnacle :  a  slender  tur- 
ret or  part  of  a  building  elevated 
above  the  main  building. 

planet,  Gr.  planetes,  wandering :  a  ce- 
lestial body  which  revolves  around 
the  sun  in  an  orbit  of  a  moderate 
degree  of  eccentricity. 

plight,  n.,  A.-S.  //////,  clanger,  obliga- 
tion. Used  by  Milton  to  signify 
state,  condition,  without  any  refer- 
ence to  danger  —  its  usual  mod- 
ern meaning. 

poetry,  Lat.  poeta,  from  Gr.  poietes,  a 
poet,  from  poiein,  to  make,  to 
create.  See  Definitions  4  and  10, 

polarity,  Gr.  polos,  a  pole  (in  physics, 
one  of  the  opposite  or  contrasted 
parts  or  directions  in  which  a  po- 
lar force  is  manifested) :  that  qual- 
ity or  condition  of  a  body  in  vir- 
tue of  which  it  exhibits  opposite 
or  contrasted  properties,  or  pow- 
ers in  opposite  or  contrasted  parts 
or  directions. 


634 


MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


polite,  Lat.  politus,  polished  :  elegant 
in  manners. 

politics,  sing.,  Gr.  politike,  belonging 
to  the  state  (frompo/is,  a  city) :  the 
science  or  art  of  public  affairs. 

ponderous,  Lat.  ponderostts,  from  pon- 
dus,  ponderis,  a  weight :  weighty. 
Ponderous  (=  root  ponder  -f-  suf- 
fix ous)  is  etymologically  an  exact 
synonym  of  weighty  (weight +y). 

possess,  Lat.  possidere,  possessum,  from  j 
po,  an  inseparable  prefix  having 
an  intensifying  force,  and  sidere, 
to  sit,  lit.  to  sit  upon,  and  there- 
fore to  occupy,  to  hold :  used  by 
Shakespeare  as  equivalent  to  ac- 
quaint, inform.  (This  verb  is  fol- 
lowed by  of  or  with  before  the 
name  of  the  thing  possessed.) 

prescribe,  Lat./ra,  before,  and  scribere, 


proyning  =  pruning,  from  obsolete 
proyn,  to  prune. 

pursuivant,  Fr.  poursuivre,  to  pursue  : 
properly,  an  attendant  on  the  her- 
alds. 


quagmire,  O.  Eng.  quag,  to  quake  or 
shake,  and  mire :  soft,  wet  land. 

quorum,  Lat.  gen.  pi.  of  qui,  and  hence 
=  of  whom  (  with  reference  to  a 
body  of  persons  of  whom  those 
who  are  assembled  are  legally 
sufficient  to  the  business  of  the 
whole.  In  England  applied  to 
the  justice- court. 

quota,  Lat.  quoins,  quota,  which  or  what 
in  number :  a  proportional  part. 

rankle,  A.-S.  ranc,  proud,  strong,  rank  : 
to  be  inflamed,  to  fester. 


to  write  :   lit.  to   fore  -  write,  and  I  rapture,  Lat.  rapere,  raptum,  to   carry 


hence  to  lay  down  authoritatively. 
presumptuous,  'L^.t.prcesumptuosus  (prcz, 
before,  and  sumere,  to  take) :  full 
of  presumption  (presumption,  lit. 
a  taking  in  advance  of  warrant). 

principal,  adj.,  Lat.  principalis  ( from 
princeps,  principis,  the  first  or 
chief — and  this  from  primus,  first, 
and  capere,  to  take),  first  in  rank, 
most  considerable. 

privateness,  Lat. privatus,  private  :  pri- 
vacy. 

prodigious,  Lat.  prodigium,  a  prodigy  : 
of  the  nature  of  a  prodigy,  and 
used  by  Milton  in  the  special 
sense  of  portentous. 

profusion,  the  act  of  one  who  is  pro- 
fuse, and  this  from  Lat./™,  forth, 
andy cunder ~e,fusum,  to  pour. 

proper,  Fr.  propre,  Lat.  proprius,  one's 
own  :  belonging  to  as  one's  own. 

propitiation,  Lat.  propitiatio,  an  appeas- 
ing: the  act  of  appeasing  wrath. 

provoke,  Lat. provocare  (pro,  forth,  and 
vocare,  to  call),  to  call  forth  :  used 
by  Gray  in  its  etymological  sense. 


off  by  force  :  a  seizing  by  vio- 
lence, and,  figuratively,  the  state 
of  being  carried  away  from  one's 
self  by  agreeable  excitement, 
transport. 

rather,  A.  -  S.  properly  the  compar- 
ative degree  of  rathe  (radhe), 
soon,  quick,  and  hence  lit.  sooner, 
and  thence  transferred  from  con- 
nection in  time  to  connection  in 
choice. 

reasonable,  through  Fr.  raisonnable, 
from  Lat.  rationabilis,  and,  ulti- 
mately, ratio,  reason  :  accordant 
with  reason.  Milton  uses  it  where 
we  should  use  rational.  We  dis- 
criminate between  reasonable  and 
rational.  Rational  is  having  the 
faculty  of  reason  ;  reasonable  is 
accordant  with  reason  :  so  that 
one  may  be  rational  without  being 
reasonable. 

recant,  Lat.  recantare,  to  recall,  from 
re,  again,  and  cantare,  to  sing  or 
sound:  used  by  Shakespeare  in 
its  etymological  sense  of  recall. 


GLOSSARY. 


reck,  A.-S.  recan,  to  care  for :  to  make 
account  of;  to  care  for. 

remorse,  Lat.  remordere,  remorsus,  to 
bite  back,  to  torment :  used  by 
Shakespeare  in  the  rare  sense  of 
relenting,  compassion. 

retiring,  Fr.  retirer,  to  draw  back :  re- 
tirement. 

reverie.     See  r every. 

revery,  Fr.  reverie,  from  r$ver,  to  dream : 
a  loose  irregular  train  of  thoughts 
or  musings. 

ribaldry,  L.  Lat.  ribaldus,  a  lewd  fel- 
low :  the  talk  of  a  ribald. 

rival,  n.,  Lat.  rivales,  two  neighbors 
having  the  same  brook  (rivus)  in 
common  :  a  competitor. 

rude,  Lat.  rndis,  characterized  by  rough- 
ness :  unpolished,  barbarous. 

ruffian,  Ger.  raufen,  to  scuffle,  to  fight : 
a  boisterous,  brutal  fellow. 

sanctify,  Lat.  sanctificare,  to  make  (fa- 
cere]  holy  (sanctus)  :  to  hallow. 

sanctuary,  Lat.  sanctnarium,  from  sanc- 
tus, sacred  :  a  sacred  place. 

satellite,  Lat.  safeties,  gen.  satellitis,  lit. 
a  soldier  who  guarded  the  person 
of  the  prince ;  hence  an  attend- 
ant :  a  secondary  planet,  or  moon. 

satisfy,  Lat.  satisfacere,  from  satis, 
enough,  and  facere,  to  make :  to 
free  from  doubt,  suspense,  or  un- 
certainty. 

savage  (O.  Eng.  salvage],  Lat.  silvaticus, 
belonging  to  a  wood  (from  silva, 
a  wood)  :  lit.  a  forest  man,  and 
thence  an  uncivilized  (civis,  a  city) 
man. 

sculptor,  Lat.  sciilptor,  from  sculpere,  to 
carve  :  one  who  sculptures. 

second,  v.,  Lat.  secundare  (from  secun- 
dus,  the  second,  and  this  from  se- 
qui,  to  follow,  because  it  follows 
the  first) :  to  support,  to  forward. 

secure,  adj.,  Lat.  se  (sine),  without,  and 
cura,  care :  used  by  Milton  in  its 


635 

literal  sense  —  not  in  its  modern 

meaning  of  safe. 
selah,  Heb.  selah,  from  salah,  to  repose, 

to  be  silent. 
selenography,  Gr.  selene,  the  moon,  and 

graphein,  to  describe :  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  surface  of  the  moon. 
seneschal,  Fr.  senechal,  from    L.  Lat. 

seniscalcus,  lit.  an  old  servant :   a 

steward. 
sensible,   Lat.   sensibilis,   from    sensus, 

sense  :  easily  moved  or  affected. 
sensual,   Lat.   sensualis,    from    sensus, 

sense :    relating   to   the   body   in 

distinction  from  the  mind. 
serene,  Lat.  serenus,  calm,  from   sera, 

evening :  fair,  bright. 
shrive,  A.-S.   scrifan:    to    administer 

confession. 
sidelong,  Eng.  side  and  long;  lateral, 

oblique. 
signory,  It.  segnoria,  from    Lat.  senior, 

elder  :  the  Florentine  senate. 
simple,  Lat.  simplex   (  probably   from 

sine,  without,  and  plica,  a  fold)  : 

plain. 
sirloin,   Fr.  surlonge   (sur,  over,  and 

longe,  loin):  a  loin  of  beef. 
smother,  //.,  A.-S.  smorian,  to    suffo- 
cate :  a  state  of  suppression. 
sooth,  A.-S.  s&dh,  truth  :  truth. 
sorteth  (to  sort),  from  the  Fr.  sortir,  to 

go  out :  hence,  results  in,  leads  to. 

Obsolete  in  this  signification. 
spectre,  Lat.  spectrum,  an  image,  from 

specere,  to  see  :  an  apparition. 
spell,  A.-S.  spellian,  to  relate  :  used  by 

Milton   in  the  sense  of  read  or 

study  out. 
spirit,  Lat.  spiratus,  from    spirare,  to 

breathe  :  a  disembodied  soul. 
sprite,  contracted  from  spirit  (Lat.  spi- 

ritus,  breath,  spirare,  to  breathe). 
spud,  Dan.  spyd,  a   spear :   an   imple- 
ment for  destroying  weeds. 
starve,  from  A.-S.  steorfan,  to  die.    Its 

modern  meaning,  to  famish,  is  a 


636 


MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


special  application.     Milton  uses 
it  as  equivalent  to  freeze. 

statua,  the  original  Latin  form  of 
statue  t  from  stativa,  standing  (ef- 
figies, image,  understood),  from 
stare,  to  stand. 

statue,  Lat  statua  (which  see). 

steal,  A.-S.,  connected  with  still'  to 
accomplish  in  a  secret  manner,  as 
to  "  steal  a  sigh." 

•till,  A.-S.  stille,  quietly :  used  by  Dry- 
den  in  the  sense  of  always,  ever. 

stond,  a  disinclination  to  proceed. 
This  word,  which  is  a  form  of 
stand,  is  obsolete. 

Stygian,  relating  to  the  Styx,  fabled  to 
be  a  river  of  hell:  hence  hateful, 
infernal. 

sublime,  Lat.  sublimis  (probably  from 
sublevere,  to  lift  up) :  exalted. 

sublimity.     See  sublime. 

subtile,  Lat.  subtilis,  from  sub,  under 
(slightly),  tela,  a  web:  lit.  woven 
fine,  then  thin,  then  keen.  In  this 
last  sense  used  by  Milton.  Subtle 
is  a  contracted  form  of  the  same 
word,  but  has  taken  the  meaning 
of  sly,  artful. 

subtle.     See  subtile. 

subtlety.     See  subtile. 

subtly,  in  a  subtle  manner.  See  sub- 
tile. 

sugh  =  sough,  A.-S.  siofian,  to  groan,  to 
sigh  :  a  hollow  murmur  or  roar- 
ing. 

Sunday,  A.-S.  sunna,  the  sun,  and  dag, 
day :  the  first  day  of  the  week,  j 
the  Christian  Sabbath.  It  was  so 
called  because  this  day  was  an- 
ciently dedicated  to  the  sun  or  its 
worship. 

gorge,  Lat.  surgere,  to  rise  :  a  large 
wave  or  billow. 

surgeon,  contracted  from  Yr.chirurgien, 
from  Gr.  cheirourgos  (cheir,  the 
hand,  and  ergein,  to  work),  orig- 
inally one  whose  profession  is  to 


heal  diseases  by  manual  opera- 
tions, instruments,  or  applica- 
tions. 

surplice,  Fr.  surplis,  from  L.  Lat.  super- 
pellicium  (super,  over,  and  pellici- 
um,  a  fur  robe,  a  pelisse}  :  a  white 
overgarment  worn  by  the  clergy 
and  other  officials  in  the  Latin 
Catholic  church. 

surplus,  Lat.  super,  over,  and  plus, 
more  :  overmuch,  excess. 

surplusage.     See  surplus. 

swound :  a  swoon.     Rare. 

systole,  Gr.  sustole,  from  sun,  with,  and 
stellein,  to  set :  the  contraction  of 
the  heart  and  arteries. 

tale,  A.-S.  telian  or  tellan,  to  tell :  a 
reckoning  by  count,  an  enumera- 
tion. 

talents,  Lat.  talentum,  Gr.  talanton, 
anything  weighed  ;  a  talent  (de- 
nomination of  money )  :  mental 
endowments  or  capacity  ;  a  meta- 
phorical use  of  the  word  probably 
originating  in  the  Scripture  para- 
ble of  the  talents. 

tapestry,  Fr.  tapisserie,  from  tapis,  a 
carpet :  a  kind  of  woven  hang- 
ings of  wool  and  silk. 

temper,  v.,  Fr.  temper er,  Lat.  temperare, 
from  Lat.  tempus,  time  ;  lit.  to 
adapt  a  thing  to  the  time  or  oc- 
casion :  to  qualify,  to  soften. 

temperate,  Lat.  temperatus  ( tempus, 
time),  mingled  in  due  proportion  : 
moderate,  not  excessive. 

tenement,  Lat.  tenementum,  from  tenere, 
to  hold :  a  house  or  lands  de- 
pending on  a  manor,  or  noble- 
man's estate. 

tenet,  Lat.  tenet,  he  holds  (3d  per.  sing 
of  tenere,  to  hold) :  a  doctrine,  a 
dogma. 

tessellate,  Lat.  tessellare,  from  tessella, 
a  small  square  piece :  to  form  in 
little  squares. 


testament,  Lat.  testamentum,  from  testis, 
a  witness  :  an  instrument  in  writ- 
ing by  which  a  person  declares 
his  will  as  to  the  disposal  of  his 
estate  and  effects  after  his  death. 

tinge,  Lat.  tingere,  to  wet,  moisten :  to 
imbue  or  affect  one  thing  with  the 
qualities  of  another ;  to  color. 

tourney,  Fr.  tournoir,  from  tourner,  to 
turn :  a  tournament. 

train,  Fr.  train,  from  Fr.  trainer,  Lat. 
trahere,  to  draw :  used  by  Gold- 
smith to  denote  the  collection  of 
villagers  drawn  along  together  to 
sport. 

tripod,  Gr.  tripous,  gen.  tripodos,  from 
tri  or  tris,  three,  and  pous,  podos, 
a  foot :  the  stool  with  three  feet 
on  which  the  priest  in  the  tem- 
ple of  Apollo  sat  while  giving  re- 
sponses. 

trophy,  Gr.  tropaion,  a  monument  of  an 
enemy's  defeat  (from/r^,  a  turn- 
ing about  or  routing) :  a  pile  of 
arms,  taken  from  a  vanquished 
enemy,  raised  on  the  field  of  bat- 
tle by  the  conquerors ;  or  the 
representation  of  such  a  pile  in 
marble  and  the  like.  In  this  lat- 
ter sense  used  by  Addison. 

truce,  O.  Eng.  trewis  or  trewse,  from  O. 
Ger.  triwa,  faith,  compact :  a  sus- 
pension of  arms  by  mutual  agree- 
ment. 

twilight,  A.-S.  tivi,  tuo,  and  Eng.  light, 
lit.  doubtful  light :  the  faint  light 
perceived  before  the  rising  and 
after  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

typhus,  L.  Lat.  typhus,  from  Gr.  tuphos, 
smoke,  stupor  arising  from  fever  : 
a  type  of  fever. 

ubiquitous,  Lat.  ubique,  everywhere  : 
existing  everywhere. 

uncouth,  from  A.-S.  un,  not,  and  citdh, 
known,  from  cunnan,  to  know  : 
hence  unknown,  and  in  this  lit- 


GLOSSARY.  637 

eral  sense  it  is  used  by  Milton. 
This  signification  is  now  obso- 
lete. Its  modern  signification 
of  odd,  rude,  is  exemplified  in 
Gray. 

undulation,  Lat.  undula,  a  little  wave, 
from  unda,  a  wave  :  a  waving  mo- 
tion or  vibration. 

unravel,  Eng.  un  and  ravel.     The  un 
is  superfluous,  as  ravel  means  to 
take  apart,  to  untwist.     Thus — 
"  Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave 
of  care." — SHAKESPEARE. 

unreprored,  lit.  not  reproved,  which  is 
its  modern  meaning ;  but  in  Mil- 
ton it  signifies  that  cannot  be  re- 
proved :  irreproachable,  blame- 
less. 

Utopia,  Gr.  ou,  not,  and  topos,  a  place  : 
an  imaginary  island  spoken  of  in  a 
work  called  Utopia  by  Sir  Thomas 
More. 

vault,  Fr.  voute,  from  Lat.  volvere,  volu- 
tuni,  to  roll:  an  arched  apartment. 

verger,  Fr.  verger,  from  verge,  a  rod  : 
the  beadle  of  a  cathedral  church. 

vernal,  Lat.  vernalis,  from  ver,  spring  : 
belonging  to  spring. 

verse,  Lat.  versus,  a  furrow,  and  in  po- 
etry a  line,  or  verse  ;  from  vertere, 
ver  sum,  to  turn.  See  Def.  4. 

vicarious,  Lat.  vicarius,  from  vicis, 
change  :  acting  or  suffering  for 
another. 

victuals,  Fr.  victuailles,  from  Lat.  vic- 
tus,  nourishment,  from  vivere,  vic- 
tum,  to  live :  food  for  human  be- 
ings, prepared  for  eating.  Now 
used  only  in  the  plural. 

vignette,  Fr.  vignette,  from  vigne,  a  vine, 
originally  applied  to  ornaments 
consisting  of  leaves  and  tendrils  : 
an  engraving  not  enclosed  within 
a  definite  border. 

vindicate,  Lat.  vindicare,  to  maintain 
or  assert  (probably  from  venun: 


638 


MASTERPIECES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


and  dicere,  to  pronounce  sale) :  to 
justify,  to  assert  with  success. 

yirtue,  Lat.  virtus,  strength,  excellence, 
from  vir,  a  man  :  natural  or  moral 
excellence. 

vista,  It.  vista,  sight,  view,  from  Lat. 
videre,  to  see  :  a  view,  especially 
a  distant  view,  through  or  be- 
tween intervening  objects. 

Tolubility,  Lat.  vohtbilis,  rolling  easily, 
from  volvere,  to  roll:  fluency  of 
speech. 

voluble.     See  volubility. 

vulgar,  Lat.  vulgus,  the  common  peo- 
ple :  used  by  Emerson  in  the 
sense  of  popular. 

wax,  A.-S.  weaxan,  to  increase:  to  in- 
crease, as  opposed  to  wane. 

weal,  A.-S.  wela,  wealth  :  well  -  being, 
prosperity. 

weeds,  A.-S.  waed,  a  garment.  The 
word  was  in  the  iyth  century  not 
confined  to  a  widow's  dress. 

ween,  A.-S.  wenan,  to  hope,  to  think  : 
to  deem,  to  believe. 

widow,  A.-S.  widuwe  (connected  w.ith 
Lat.  viduus,  bereft  of  a  husband) 
and  Sanscrit  vidhavA  ( from  vi, 
without,  and  dhava,  a  husband)  : 
a  woman  who  has  lost  her  hus- 
band by  death. 

wight,  A.-S.  wiht,  a  creature :  a  per- 
son. The  word  is  used  chiefly  in 
burlesque. 

nit,  A.-S.  wit,  knowledge.  This  word 
in  the  older  Eng.  literature  is  used 
in  various  senses  widely  differ- 
ent from  its  modern  signification. 
Thus,  in  Shakespeare,  (i)  intellect- 


ual power,  (2)  sharpness,ingenuity ; 

in   Milton,  intellect ;    in    Butler, 

subtlety  ;  in  Dryden,  skill. 
wits:  used  by  Dryden  in  the  sense  of 

intellectual  faculties. 
withal,  \.-S.with  and  all:  with. 
wizard,  A.-S.  wis,  wise,  and  ard,  man  : 

a  conjurer. 
wold,  A.-S.  (=weald  and  wald,  a  wood, 

a  forest) :    a  wood  or  forest ;    a 

plain  or  open  country. 
wrest,  A.-S.  wrtzstan,  to  twist :  to  turn 

forcibly. 
writ,  v.,  obsolete    form    of  the    past 

tense  of  to  write.     Writ  is  nearer 

the  A.-S.  form  than  our  modern 

wrote.     The  A.-S.  past  was  wrut, 

pi.  writon,  of  'which   latter   writ 

was  a  contracted  form. 

ycleped  (i-klept),  called,  named :  p.  p. 
of  A.-S.  geclipian,  to  call ;  obso- 
lete except  in  burlesque  writing. 

yore,  A.-S.  geo,  formerly,  and  <zr,  ere, 
before. 

younker,  A.-S.  geongra,  a  pupil,  from 
geong,  young :  a  young  fellow. 

yule,  A.-S.  geol :  Christmas;  applied 
also  sometimes  to  the  feast  of 
Lammas.  The  "  yule  -  log  "  or 
"yule-block"  was  a  large  block 
of  wood  formerly  put  on  the  hearth 
on  Christmas  eve,  as  the  founda- 
tion of  the  fire. 

zephyr,  Lat.  zephyr  its,  Gr.  zephuros 
(from  zophos,  darkness,  the  dark 
side,  west) :  the  west  wind,  and, 
poetically,  any  soft,  mild,  gentle 
breeze. 


THE    END. 


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a  sureness  of  taste;  he  has  proceeded  on  what  see,ms  to  me  the  true  principle  of  arrange- 
ment, that  of  chronology ;  he  has  made  his  selections  as  full  as  he  could  consistently 
with  the  multitude  to  be  selected  from,  neither  rejecting  old  ones  because  they  were 
old,  nor  accepting  new  ones  because  they  were  new,  but  earnestly  aiming  in  both  cases 
to  represent  the  great  body  of  British  and  American  poets  at  their  best,  and  their  best 
only;  and  he  has  felt  the  natural  demand  of  its  readers  for  information  concerning  it 
and  its  authors— an  imperative  demand  which  he  has  fulfilled  with  a  thoroughness  that 
is  honorable  to  his  scholarship,  and  with  a  modesty  that  is  honorable  to  his  genius. 
That  such  a  work  as  this  might  have  been  done  differently  I  can  see;  that  it  could  have 
been  done  better  I  do  not  see  at  all.— R.  H.  STODDAUD,  in  The  Critic,  N.  Y. 

The  special  value  of  this  collection  is  in  the  fact  that  it  expresses  the  taste  and  feel- 
ing of  one  of  the  most  cultured  men  of  this  generation,  who,  with  a  poet's  sensibility, 
spent  his  whole  life  in  the  companionship  and  atmosphere  of  books  and  authors.  His 
judgment  could  be  trusted.  His  taste  was  almost  unerring  in  literary  matters.  Hid 
criticism  was  as  keen  as  it  was  general,  and  seemed  to  detect  the  faulty  and  the  false 
almost  by  instinct.  It  is  a  great  privilege  to  have  such  a  man's  selection  of  the  poems 
in  the  English  language  worth  preserving — Evening  Express,  N.  Y. 

Mr.  Sargent  was  eminently  fitted  for  the  preparation  of  a  work  of  this  kind.  Pew 
men  possessed  a  wider  or  more  profound  knowledge  of  English  literature;  and  his  judg- 
ment was  clear,  acute,  and  discriminating.  .  .  .  The  beautiful  typography  and  other 
exterior  charms  broadly  hint  at  the  rich  feast  of  instruction  and  enjoyment  which  the 
superb  volume  is  eminently  fitted  to  furnish.— N.  Y.  Times. 

We  commend  it  highly.  It  contains  so  many  of  the  notable  poems  of  our  language, 
and  so  much  that  is  sound  poetry,  if  not  notable,  that  it  will  make  itself  a  pleasure 
wherever  it  is  found.— A".  Y.  Herald. 

A  handsome  volume,  which  will  give  the  purest  pleasure  to  great  numbers  of  hearts 
and  households.  .  .  .  Most  readers  will  find  their  favorite  poems,  and  selections  from 
their  favorite  poets As  a  cyclopedia  for  reference,  and  a  volume  for  general  read- 
ing, it  is  both  useful  and  delightful.— Observer,  N.  Y. 

We  have  in  this  volume  the  choicest  from  what  would  fill  many  library  shelves,  and 
also,  at  hand  here,  many  fragmentary  pieces,  familiar  favorites,  but  such  as  otherwise 
we  should  not  know  where  to  find  when  wanted.— A dvance,  Chicago. 

The  selections  are  so  judiciously  made  and  so  handsomely  clothed  that  the  public 
cannot  fail  to  be  grateful,  both  for  the  skill  of  the  editor  and  the  taste  of  the  publishers 
-Christian  Advocate,  N.  Y. 


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